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ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN 







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From the latest photograph 





ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN 


'l 'rcju 

VI 



BY 

AM ELI E RIVES 

AUTHOR OF 



“VIRGINIA OF VIRGINIA,” “THE QUICK OR THE DEAD,” ETC. 



lay 


“ Greater love hath no man than this, that a man 
down his life for his friends.” 

John, xv, 13. 





NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 


I50 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 



Copyright, 1891, 

ay 

COSMOPOLITAN' PUBLISHING COMPANY. 

•*') 

Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

AMALIE RIVES CHANLER. 


All rights reserved . 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait of Amelie Rives, . . . Frontispiece 

o ^ page 

ohe had Danced some Negro Jig« for them, Accompany- 
ing Herself on Her Violin, .... 6 

As She Stood with Venus at the Waffle Stand, . 18 

She Dropped on Her Knees, Staring up into the Great 

Hollow Above, ...... 68 

She Knelt Down and Took up One of the White 

Hands, ........ 72 

She Knelt There Trembling, . . . .84 

She Practised Her Violin, .... 113 

She Fixed Her Eyes upon His Face, . . . 140 

Venus had been Filling a Bottle with Hot Water, 144 

She Looked Swiftly up at Him as she Knelt, . 168 

Gazing Curiously into the Large Mirror, . . 185 

Jean, ....... 224 

“Moi Peur,” said Tony, ..... 289 

Her Fair Head had Fallen Back against a Column, 308 

She Lay there for Half an Hour without Speaking, 31 i 

She went and Stood Silently beside Him, . . 341 










.. V 

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ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Maison Roget was filled almost en- 
tirely with Americans. There was only one 
Frenchwoman, a Madame Vamousin, whom 
the others called “ Maman Cici.” For four- 
teen years she had been a great cook ; but 
having married a young coachman, and being 
passionately in love with him, she had re- 
tired from business for a year in order to de- 
vote her time more completely to him and 
to his favorite dishes. She was a woman 
of fifty, large, red, powerful, with an enor- 
mous bust and arms and the motion of one 
who glides upon invisible skates. Her eyes 


4 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

seemed astonishingly blue, set in the midst of 
her purple-pink face. She had a pleasant 
smile, which showed two lines of teeth like 
little ivory saws. Her eyebrows were vague, 
her nose commonplace ; her lips melted into 
the general tone of her face. She had deep 
dimples in each cheek, which looked as 
though drawn in with buttons, like the divis- 
ions in a tufted crimson-silk chair. She was 
amiable, thoughtful, generous; often sending 
one of her supreme creations in pastry or 
jelly to a favorite fellow pensioner, and be 
ing ready at any moment of the day or night 
to minister to the sick or sorrowful. 

Miss Carter was a young girl who had 
lived for sixteen years with a maiden aunt in 
an old country house near Charlottesville, 
Virginia. When this aunt died, there had 
been such a squabbling among the other rel- 
atives over the little money and the tumble- 
down house that Jean, quietly determined, 
had obtained her share of $10,000, the violin 


A CCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 5 

which had belonged to her father, the white 
China crepe shawl which her aunt had worn 
on occasions of ceremony ; and packing these 
together in a small, flat trunk, had set off for 
Europe with the young negress V enus. Her 
idea was to study there for several years, and, 
when she had become an accomplished vio- 
linist, to return to America as a member of 
some distinguished concert troupe. She was 
too proud to live in a state of semi-depend- 
ence upon her wrangling relatives, but had 
not the false pride which would make most 
young girls shrink from receiving a regular 
salary, whether as musician or lady’s maid. 

She and the black Venus had both been 
very homesick during the first six months. 
The constant staccato roll of the unfamiliar 
French had chilled and bewildered them. 
Now, after two years of hard work, Venus 
could comprehend a few ordinary sentences, 
although her great, good-humored lips found 
it impossible to shape themselves to the deli- 


6 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


cate form of the strange words; while Jean 
spoke quite fluently, with a pretty accent and 
a method of construction totally original. 
When she had first come she had tutoyed 
everyone impartially, and such Frenchmen as 
visited the Maison Roget had found this 
especially delightful. Even now, when not 
thinking, she assumed this habit with a calm- 
ness which made it doubly amusing. 

In appearance she was fair, small, slight, 
but with a slightness full of strength and 
elasticity. She had the air and movements 
of a young creature who has been much out 
of doors, in wind and rain, in summer and 
winter. One felt that she could ride, drive, 
walk, climb, swim, and that she only needed 
wings to be able to fly at once and without 
teaching. Her eyes were large, clear, shaded 
by thick brown-black lashes. One of the 
artists at the Maison Roget, with a good 
sense of color but a lack of poetic imagination, 
had said that Miss Carter’s eyes were like 




She had Danced some Negro Jigs for them, 
Herself on Her Violin. — p. 6. 


Accompanying 







ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN J 

bits of barley sugar. Her eyebrows were 
wide and fairy-like, her nose delicately aqui- 
line and full of character. She had a small 
crimson mouth, scalloped deeply over charm- 
ing white teeth— a mouth which would have 
had unconscious tricks of allurement even in 
whispering above a rosary ; while her little 
figure was as perfect in its round thinness as 
that of a Javanese dancer. She had hands so 
supple that she could bend her long, childish 
fingers back until they touched her arm. Her 
hair, of a bright russet color, curled roughly 
about her forehead, which was low and broad 
with a fine blue vein through the middle. 
She was just nineteen. Her birthday had 
passed in November and everyone in the 
house had given her some little trifle ; while 
Maman Cici had made her the most wonder- 
ful cake, covered with complicated figures in 
nougat and surrounded by sixteen little pink 
candles. She had danced some negro jigs 
for them afterward, accompanying herself on 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


her violin. One peculiarly difficult step, 
called in Virginia “ pulling caro,” roused 
great enthusiasm. She also sang a song 
with this, to which Venus clapped in time. 
The words were rather monotonous : 


“ Sweet Lu-la— all day! 

Pretty little Lu-la — all day ! 
Lu got a lover — all day ! 

Lu got a lover — all day ! 

Skip in a hurry — all day ! 
Swing yo’ partners — all day ! 


She wore charming gowns, which she 
made herself, after those she saw in the Bois 
on fashionable afternoons. They were always 
very simple ; of cloth, cashmere, or calico ; 
the colors dark or in quiet half-tones. After 
two years in Paris she looked like a young 
French girl of the higher world, with her 
straight little gray and blue frocks, her fresh, 
perfectly fitting gloves of tan-colored suede, 
her smart shoes with their patent - leather 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 9 

tips, her hat copied after those of Petit or 
Heitz- Boyer. 

Maman Cici and her husband occupied the 
entresol. Above them were two American 
women who studied painting at Julian’s; one 
young, impertinent, ambitious, celebrated for 
the thickness and tints of her horse-chestnut- 
colored hair and the irremediable and uni- 
form badness of her drawing ; the other, a 
woman of about forty, with a charming nat- 
ure and a pretty talent, which, if cultivated 
in the proper direction, might have made her 
quite a distinguished painter of fans. On 
the next floor lived the beauty of the pension 
with her husband, who was a realistic sculp- 
tor with a talent for painting. Their name 
was Benson, but she called herself Mrs. 
Hunter-Benson, and had the double name 
printed on her visiting cards. No one used 
engraved cards at the Maison Roget, it 
would have been considered a snobbish striv- 
ing for superiority. Mrs. Benson’s beauty 


10 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


was of the dark, white-skinned type, which 
grows oily after an hour in a warm room, 
and which includes a good deal of pearl 
powder and a constant moistening of the lips. 
She had superb hair, so dull and black that 
it looked heavy, as though its thick, sleepy 
coils might have been carved from metal. He 
was tall, thin, silent, resembling, with his 
grayish pallor and deep, broad-lidded eyes, 
the woman-type of Burne-Jones. 

A pupil of the sleek and sandpapered 
school occupied the fourth floor. This fact, 
known before she herself had been present- 
ed to them, had established her position in 
the pension. She was treated with good- 
natured but scarcely veiled contempt — in a 
word, as though she had been one of her 
master’s pictures stepped from its frame. 

On the sixth floor, above Jean, was an- 
other married couple, Adrian Farrance, a 
painter, and his wife. .-They had only been 
in the pension two weeks, but Jean was 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


II 


already intimate with Mrs. Farrance and 
helped to amuse the baby when she had 
come back from her music-lesson and had 
finished practising for the day. Farrance, 
whose mother was a Spaniard, had lived in 
America from his seventh year. He was 
a man of thirty-two or three, tall, well- 
formed, of an olive darkness, and having 
singular black-gray eyes streaked with brown 
and overhung by broad, handsome eyebrows, 
beginning and ending abruptly. He wore 
a close-clipped, pointed black beard, and 
a mustache brushed up from his clean-cut 
mouth. With his mingling of the antique 
and modern, he resembled a painting begun 
by Velasquez and finished by Dagnan-Bou- 
veret. He had unusually beautiful hands, 
long, muscular, ending in clean, oval nails, 
which he kept with more care than was cus- 
tomary in the Maison Roget. Mrs. Farrance 
was extravagantly blonde, with a tall figure 
curving forward. Her naturally fair hair she 


12 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


had washed with concentrated soda until it 
had a dead, brittle look like spun sugar. Her 
eyes were of a very beautiful rich blue, and 
filled easily with tears. Her mouth was 
strong, determined, with full, dark-red lips, 
which had a trick of curling to one side when 
she spoke, and her complexion light and 
frail like a flower leaf of crapy texture. Her 
throat, breast, hands, and arms were exqui- 
site, and she moved with a kind of graceful 
awkwardness, which was charming under the 
folds of the loose, picturesque house-gowns 
which she always wore. She was passion- 
ately fond of the perfume of vervain, and 
used it in such quantities that it would some- 
times float beneath the door and struggle 
with the smell of cooking which usually per- 
vaded the house. 

Even during the first week of their, ac- 
quaintance she had told Jean much of her 
past history. Her husband had been on the 
stage in America for several years, and 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 3 

when she married him she had been playing 
leading parts with him for three months. He 
had not used his real name on the stage. He 
was a great actor, Mrs. Farrance said. If he 
had only gone on for three or four years 
longer the world would have acknowledged 
him. She herself thought that acting was 
a great art — as great as painting. Her 
mother had been an actress too, and she, 
Mrs. Farrance, had played Juliet when she 
was sixteen. She said that it was wonderful 
to play Juliet to Farrance's Romeo ; she 
wished Jean could see him only once. He 
had not worn a beard then, and he was 
much, much handsomer without a beard. She 
had begged him not to let it grow when he 
left the stage, but he said that shaving took 
too much of his time in the morning. He 
had studied at the Beaux-Arts two years be- 
fore coming to the Maison Roget, and after- 
ward at Julian's and with Carolus ; but he 
had far more talent for acting. It was always 


14 ACCORDING 7 0 SAINT JOHN. 

that way ; people seemed to turn their backs 
upon their real talents and take up things 
which they could not do half as well. 

“ It is like compliments,” she ended. 
44 Haven’t you ever noticed how one likes to 
be told that one’s nose is lovely when it is 
really one’s mouth ? I am never half so 
pleased when people tell me how beautiful 
my eyes are as I am when someone happens 
to say that my mouth is pretty.” 

44 But it is pretty, really,” said Jean. 44 I 
love the way it tips to one side when you 
speak. I should have loved to see you say : 
4 And for that name which is no part of thee, 
take all myself! ’ ” 

Mrs. Farrance smiled and kissed her on 
either cheek. 44 You dear little Goody To- 
paz-Eyes ! ” she exclaimed, 44 I’ll read the 
part for you some day ; and perhaps ” — she 
paused and looked at the girl thoughtfully 
fora moment — 44 yes, I’ll dress up for you 
as Parthenia. It was my best part. Some' 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 5 

times, do you know, the stage fever comes 
over me, and I feel as though I must rush 
out into the streets and throw myself under 
one of those great omnibuses! You don’t 
know what it is, child ; but I was an actress 
for twelve years, and I love it — I love it fero- 
ciously. I adore the very smell of the gas 
in the theatre, the dust of the scenes, the 
dark little ways and ladders and coils of 
rope, the warm smell of the rouge and pearl- 
powder ; the tinsel and tarlatan and glue and 
wigs ; and then the slant of the stage and 
the twinkle of the footlights, and that great 
horseshoe of round balls which one sees are 
heads after a moment or two.” 

She began to cough suddenly, and Jean 
ran to her with a bit of jujube paste and a 
glass of water. 


CHAPTER II. 


Although Jean was so intimate with Mrs 
Farrance, she did not see much of Farrance, 
and when she did was shy and tongue-tied. 
She thought him one of the handsomest per- 
sons conceivable, and agreed with his wife 
in looking upon him as a genius. He had 
a delightful voice in speaking — quiet, rich ; 
Jean was sure he could sing wonderfully if 
he chose. She copied his care of his hands, 
and spent some time every morning in ar- 
ranging with a little celluloid stick the rim of 
flesh about her pretty round nails. She 
imagined him as Hamlet , and often thrilled 
over his fancied pronunciation of the words, 
“ I loved Ophelia.” He was not at all her 
idea of Romeo , in spite of Mrs. Farrance’s 
detailed description of his costume, voice, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 7 

gestures, and original method of stabbing 
himself in that character. He was far too 
cold and self-contained, she thought. Far- 
rance, on his side, considered Jean a pretty, 
wild nymph, with a decided talent for music 
and a fortunate way with babies. The child 
did not scream so deafeningly now when he 
came back from his cours , tired out and dis- 
couraged. It lay on Jean's breast content- 
edly, sucking an India-rubber ring, while he 
lounged in an arm-chair and played with the 
fingers of his wife, whom he adored. He 
talked very little, being one of those men 
whose opinion is valued because seldom ex- 
pressed ; and would often pass the whole 
evening in entire silence, smoking cigarette 
after cigarette, changing Mrs. Farrance’s 
rings to different fingers, sketching in pen 
and ink on scraps of charcoal paper which 
had been blurred with unsuccessful drawings, 
walking up and down the narrow studio in a 
brown study, his fingers combing his short 

2 


♦ 


1 8 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

beard, a copy of Gil Bias or Le Grelot in his 
other hand. Sometimes his wife walked be- 
side him for a little while, and Jean used to 
think how beautiful and strong his hand 
looked, sunk among the loose folds of stuff 
at her frail waist. 

It was he who had given Jean the name 
of “ Goody Topaz-Eyes,” on one of the rare 
occasions when he had spoken to her. She 
had been sitting absent-mindedly one even- 
ing on a high wooden chair near the stove, 
stringing some gilt beads which she had 
brought back for the baby, and looking at 
Farrance, whom she thought absorbed in his 
pen-and-ink drawings. “ Well, Goody To- 
paz-Eyes,” he had said, finally, “ when you 
have quite taken me in, would you mind 
telling me what conclusion you have come 
to.” Jean reddened even now, whenever 
she thought of this. She fancied him laugh- 
ing at her, although he had been quite grave, 
and had not lifted hir glance from his work. 





















































. 

































ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 9 

The other memorable remark that he had 
made to her had been when passing her 
as she stood with Venus at a gaufre stand 
on the Boulevard des Invalides. Jean and 
Venus were both eating these French waf- 
fles, and Jean knew that there was butter 
on her mouth. “ I fancied you lived on air,” 
he had said ; “ and now, since Fve turned 
that corner, you’ve disposed of five waffles, 
one more than Venus can boast of. I shan’t 
call you Goody Topaz-Eyes any more ; I 
shall rechristen you ‘ The Waffle Fairy.’ ” 
To Jean’s relief, he did not carry out his 
threat, which had the result, however, of 
keeping her away from waffle-stands for two 
weeks afterward. 

As the Maison Roget was near the Gare 
Montparnasse, and as Jean went on foot to 
and from her music-lesson on the other side 
of the Seine, she used to take Venus with 
her, dressed in her ordinary costume of dark 
woollen gown, white apron, and colored silk 


20 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


head-kerchief. Against this the girl finally 
rebelled, and entreated so piteously to be al- 
lowed to dress herself in a more usual style 
for the street, that Jean consented, mak- 
ing the condition that she should resume 
her head-kerchief and apron when in the 
house. Venus went with an Irish friend to 
the Bon Marche to purchase her new cos- 
tume, and the result was unique. The 
passers-by turned more than ever to stare 
after the square, gawky figure clad in a 
gown of apple-green cashmere, with black 
velvet sleeves, its round woolly head bear- 
ing an enormous plaque of black felt orna- 
mented with bows of green velvet and Eiffel- 
red feathers ; its splay feet bulging under 
enormous low shoes of tan-colored leather, 
which had foxings of light-gray cloth and 
white porcelain buttons ; its flat gray-black 
wrists protruding from a muff of imitation 
ermine, with a shirred green satin lining. 
Venus had spent the accumulated wages of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


21 


six months on this outfit, and was radiant 
over its effect. Now, when the crowd stared 
at her she was enchanted, and switched her 
apple-green skirts as only a Virginia darkey 
can, bridling and putting her toy muff to her 
lips, as she had seen ladies do in very cold 
weather. When she returned from her walk 
with Jean the first day of wearing her new 
clothes, the concierge had made her a low 
bow, saying : 

“ Mademoiselle, mes plus respectueux 
hommages ! Vous avez eu un succes fou 
a la Maison Roget. Tout le monde parle 
de vous. Quel chien ! Mon Dieu, ce n’est 
pas du chic 9a, c’est plus que due hie, e'est 
du genie ! ” 

Of the various articles which composed 
her costume the ermine muff was her favor- 
ite. She filled the little round blue card- 
board box in which she kept it with cam- 
phor, even during the winter, and its daily 
airing did not dispel this odor, which was 


22 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


united morning and evening with the smell 
of Mrs. Farrance’s vervain and the bouquet 
de cuisine. 

After two years of unremitting work, Jean 
had made great progress on the violin. 
Her master said that in time she would even 
play remarkably. She knew that this “ in 
time” meant at least five years more of 
labor as unflagging ; but she was patient 
and utterly absorbed in her music, which, 
in her strange, independent life, took the 
place of sweethearts and bouquets and daily 
cotillons at the White Sulphur. She had 
been in Paris two years and at the Maison 
Roget for sixteen months. She was now 
nineteen. She had never allowed anyone 
to be attentive to her and had never com- 
promised herself to the slightest extent, in 
spite of her unusual and unchaperoned mode 
of life. The Bensons she had known in 
America ; also the pupil of the leche school, 
whom she patronized in her gay, off-hand 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 23 

way, and tried to coax into going to Carlo- 
rossi or Carolus. 

She saw more of Mrs. Farrance, however, 
than of anyone else, and had grown fond of 
the baby, who was named Anthony, called 
Tony, and had beautiful eyes, already ex- 
actly like those of Farrance. Tony was 
only eight months old, very fretful, on ac- 
count of teething, and decidedly fonder of 
Jean than of his mother. 

One afternoon in January, when the three 
were alone in Mrs. Farrance’s apartment, 
she offered to carry out her promise in re- 
gard to the Parthenia dress, and sent Jean 
to an empty biscuit-box to fetch it. The 
apartment consisted of two rooms, one the 
studio, an oblong of about nine by fourteen 
feet, the other a bedroom, curtained off with 
an old sail, painted by Farrance to repre- 
sent tapestry, and not much larger than an 
ordinary cabin on a French steamer. The 
walls were lined from top to bottom with his 


24 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


sketches. There were some chairs of dif- 
ferent countries and epochs, which had been 
bought as great bargains at antiquity shops. 
An old burgomaster’s chair in black, worm- 
eaten walnut from Nuremberg ; a Venetian 
chair, cased in cracked, gilded leather ; two 
Louis XV. fauteuils, painted gray and cov- 
ered with cheap silk, which Mrs. Farrance 
had embroidered scantily. There was a 
stove not much larger than a top-hat, but in 
which a whole goose could be roasted. In 
the other room stood a bed, also picked up 
in a curiosity shop — very pretty, with its 
Louis XVI. bows and rosettes ; and a small 
looking-glass hung opposite over a carved 
console which had been turned into a wash- 
stand. 


CHAPTER III. 


Jean found the biscuit-box pushed under 
the bed, and lifted out the Parthenia cos- 
tume piece by piece. The upper robe, a 
pale-blue cashmere, was edged with a Greek 
pattern of silver in machine embroidery ; the 
under garment, of white woollen stuff, had 
only a deep hem. There was a fillet of sil- 
ver-gilt for the hair and bracelets for wrist 
and upper arm, connected by tarnished 
chains. Jean brought them into the studio, 
where Mrs. Farrance was excitedly taking 
out rouge and powder and hares' feet and 
little swansdown puffs from a card-board 
box. 

“ It's getting dark,” she said ; “ you must 
see me in all my glory. We’ll pull a sail 
over the window and light the candles ; but 


2 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

you mustn’t watch me ‘ make up ’ — it gives 
me the fidgets. I’ll go into the other room, 
and you can wait here with the baby and 
shake out the dress.’’ 

She gathered up an armful of her little 
pots and bottles and went into the next room, 
letting down the drapery from its wooden 
hook, which Jean had gilded freshly the day 
before. The baby was asleep on a pile of 
cushions in the Venetian chair. Outside 
there was a slow colorless rain falling. An 
orange-woman’s stand, with its two orange- 
tinted lamps stuck about like a fiery species 
of the same fruit, made a vivid glare of color 
in the pale light. People straggled along, 
with and without umbrellas. A little girl of 
about six passed, running, her skirt turned 
over her blond head and two enormous 
rings of bread dangling from either arm. 
Then three more children, also running, boys 
this time, looking like small ink sprites, with 
their Capuchin hoods of black oil-skin 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 27 

drenched by the rain. A great wagon of 
straw creaked by, covered with its cloth of 
faded, weather-beaten sea green. Then came 
fifteen huge gray percherons, straining under 
their load of cream-colored sandstone. Jean 
thought that it took a good while to “ make- 
up.” She heard Mrs. Farrance coughing 
violently behind the lowered curtains. “ It 
must be all that powder and stuff,” thought 
the girl. “ I wish she’d come out. Poor 
thing ! I suppose she has her stage fever on 
to-day. I wonder if she’s very ill ; that cough 
sounds dreadful to me.” 

At this moment Mrs. Farrance pushed 
aside the imitation tapestry and came for- 
ward with a candle in her hand. Jean could 
not keep back a cry, she was so beautiful. In 
the soft candle-light her hair lost its dead, 
greenish tinge ; her eyes were liquid, brill- 
iant, under their darkened lids. There was 
a touch of rouge on each cheek, making them 
seem less thin. Her lips were parted. She 


28 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


had put the fillet in her hair, which was 
twisted into a graceful knot at the back of 
her small head. 

She laughed as she saw Jean’s startled 
eyes, and put down the candle which she 
held. “ Ah, it makes a difference, doesn’t 
it ? ” she said in a soft restrained voice, 
which -was yet vibrating with excitement. 
“ One can fool old age for twenty years as an 
actress. I could look like this at forty, per- 
haps at fifty. There’s Sarah ; think of it, 
she must be forty if she’s a day, and she 
plays Camille , and La Tosca , and Frou-Frou, 
and makes everyone cry. If you saw her on 
the street at two o’clock in the day, with her 
% face washed, it would be different ; but on the 
stage she is lovely. Even with that figure 
she is the most graceful creature alive. Oh, 
what a life ! what a life ! and to have had to 
give it up ! ” 

She stood quite still for a moment, staring 
past Jean out into the dark gray rain, her 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 29 

hands wrung together, her breast moving 
with short, eager breaths. Suddenly her 
whale figure seemed to relax in a long 
sigh. “ Come,” she said, “ help me to 
dress.” 

Jean put the strange clothes over her 
head, and hooked them in unusual places as 
she was told. She drew a pair of sandals 
over the pretty, thin feet, clasped the brace- 
lets on each arm, and took her own little 
brooch of Rhine pebble to fasten the blue 
cashmere peplum on the left shoulder. 

“ How lovely you look,” she said, when 
all this had been completed ; u it is the very 
dress for you ! No wonder he fell in love 
with you ! I think all the actors in the 
troupe must have been in love with you.” 

Mrs. Farrance walked slowly up and down, 
her eyes sparkling, her lips trembling into 
smiles, just touching now and then with her 
delicate rouge-tipped fingers her bracelets 
and the fillet in- her hair. She seemed to 


30 ACCORDING TO SAlftT JOHN. 

have forgotten Jean, who was sitting on the 
arm of the Venetian chair, patting the baby, 
whom she feared would be wakened by their 
voices. 

“ To have worked as I did for twelve long 
years — for twelve long years,” the woman 
kept repeating, “and then to have given it 
up.” 

Jean did not know what to say, or whether 
she had better speak at all. She lifted the 
baby, who had begun to whimper in his 
sleep, and hushed him gently against her 
shoulder. All at once Farrance entered. 
He looked tired, and when he saw his wife 
whitened to the lips. But she ran to him ; 
she hung on his arm, radiant, smiling. She 
caressed his dark face with her narrow, wax- 
white hand. She laughed, she cried, she 
slipped to the floor and held him about his 
knees, beautiful, tragic, with the false color 
in her lips and the real entreaty in her great 
eyes. She fawned on him, calling him fool- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 3 1 

ish love-names, stammering, choking in her 
excitement. 

“Adrian, my Adriano, my little Adrian, 
my lover, my master ! let us go back to it, 
the dear old life ! I was so happy ; I didn’t 
cough at all. I should get well then, I know 
I should. And I would love you so ! I 
would love you so ! And you would be a 
great actor, and everyone would know it. 
This is killing me ! I have had three years 

of it. I know I shall die ! I know ” She 

leaned her head against his knees, in a ter- 
rible fit of coughing. Farrance looked over 
her head at Jean, his eyes cold and hard. 
They seemed to be saying : 

“ I owe this to you, Jean Carter. I thank 
you ; I hope you are enjoying what you 
have done.” 

But the next moment he had lifted his 
wife in his arms and had carried her and 
placed her in one of the fauteuils, pushing 
the other one forward, so that together they 


32 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

formed a kind of sofa. He pressed her head 
against him with one hand and took her two 
little uncovered feet in the other. “ My dar- 
ling ! you will give yourself your death with 
your feet like this, and in such weather. 
What’s the matter, my poor heart, my poor 
tired bird ? Cry it all out here on my breast. 
I would die for you ! I’ll do whatever you 
want; I’ll go anywhere ; I’ll take you any- 
where ! I’ll go back to America ! Lilian ! 
for God’s sake ! ” 

Jean sat staring at them, paralyzed. The 
baby began to whimper more fretfully, and 
she was obliged to move him about. She 
sat like a machine, waving him up and down, 
her eyes fastened on the Farrances, who 
were still clasped in each other’s arms. She 
could not believe that it was Farrance who 
spoke ; she could not believe that it was he 
who looked at his wife with those eyes, wild, 
passionate, imploring. Something made her 
tremble all over. She wished to rush out of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 33 

the room, and yet she could not place the 
crying, fretful baby there on his cushions 
and leave him to be comforted by a father 
and mother who had evidently forgotten his 
very existence. Their voices grew lower ; 
she could not hear what they said. Once 
she saw Farrance bend his head over his 
wife’s in a kiss which she thought would 
never end. She found herself gazing from 
the little round Dutch clock, on the wall op- 
posite, to them ; then back to the clock. A 
nervous desire to laugh grew upon her. 
When at last he raised his head she heard 
herself give a sobbing, hysterical breath, 
which she smothered on the firm little chest 
of the baby, who thrust his strong, swarthy 
fist into her hair and tugged at it. The pain 
brought her to herself, and she sat quietly 
dancing the child, rattling his string of gilt 
beads to divert him, lending him one of her 
slim white fingers to munch with his feverish, 
swollen gums. 


34 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

By and by she became conscious that she 
was suffering. It was a strange, vague pain 
which puzzled her. She thought at first that 
it was physical, and altered her position, tak- 
ing Tony on her other arm. She tried to 
think only of him, to keep herself from look- 
ing at the man and woman murmuring to 
each other in low voices, stroking each other 
with movements full of a passionate tender- 
ness, now pausing to kiss each other in a 
strained embrace. The blond hair had 
loosened from its Greek knot and fell thickly 
down upon her breast. He lifted it in his 
hand and buried his face in it with an ardent 
gesture. Once, when his wife put her lips 
to his of her own will, Jean saw him shiver. 
She thought that it must be very late, that 
she must have been sitting there two hours. 
The clock showed that only twenty minutes 
had passed. The baby had fallen asleep 
again, but she still hushed him with mechan- 
ical movements of arm and body. She felt 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 35 

strangely, as though she had taken a large 
dose of quinine ; there was such a surging 
and buzzing in her ears, and all the while 
that dull pain in her breast grew heavier and 
heavier. Then a feeling of anger came over 
her. How rude and unfeeling they were to 
turn their backs upon her and leave her 
there without even a word of thanks to 
nurse that heavy child into quietness — she, 
Jean Carter, on whom they had not the 
slightest claim. They were treating her like 
a servant. Her breast filled with an angry 
breath. Something hot fell on her hand. 
To her amazement she found that she was 
crying. This puzzled her more than ever. 
For the first time in her life she could not 
define her sensations. Was she angry or 
hurt or sorry or physically ill, or perhaps all 
four together ? Her face grew always paler. 
The little vein in her forehead pulsed hotly. 
Suddenly Farrance rose and turned to her. 

“ You can give me the child/’ he said ; “ we 


3 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

are very much obliged to you ; we should 
like to be alone now. M 

Jean looked at him steadily for a moment 
and then put Tony softly into his outstretched 
arms. She thought at that moment that 
she discovered her feeling, and that it was 
hatred. She had a savage desire to fly at 
Farrance and set her sharp little teeth in his 
dark hand. She said : “ Good night ; I’m 
sorry that Mrs. Farrance feels badly,” in a 
quiet voice, and shut the door so gently that 
the latch made no noise in slipping into place. 


CHAPTER IV. 


After Jean had left the Farrances’ apart- 
ment she went and sat by herself on the dark 
stairway. Her heart was sending great jets 
of blood into her arms and head. Her hands 
felt hot and swollen, as they had felt one day 
when Venus was ailing and she had swept 
out the room herself. A feeling of furious 
anger, of hot loathing, rushed over her iij 
gusts, and- made her slight little body palpi- 
tate as she sat there leaning her forehead be- 
tween the balusters, which she held in both 
hands. He had insinuated that she had been 
officious — that she had remained where she 
was not wanted. He was probably discuss- 
ing her now with his wife, and calling her 
<f a nice little thing enough, but forward.” 
She imagined him saying: “ You spoil her, 


38 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

my dearest. Really she is beginning to be a 
nuisance. And fancy her not having the 
delicacy to go away at once this evening ! ” 
She felt that she must let him know how 
much she had longed to go away. It had 
cost her the greatest effort to sit there sooth- 
ing Tony, hearing and seeing them in spite 
of herself. This must be what English people 
meant by saying that they had “ a horror of 
scenes.” Jean trembled anew when she 
thought of the one which had just passed in 
the room above. It was horrible — odious ! 
But why — why ? She could not understand ; 
she only knew that she was angry, that she 
detested Farrance, that she hoped Tony 
would be ill that very night — not ill enough 
to die, but to make Farrance long for her, 
implore her to come, even send the doctor to 
entreat her. She would be cold, firm, as 
hard as stone. She made up some droll 
little French sentences which she would say 
to the doctor, repeating them over to herself, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 39 

to insure the correct intonation and elision. 
Then she sat clenching her small teeth and 
gazing into the sparkling darkness before her. 
“How I detest that man !” she told herself. 
" How I should like to tell him what a cad he 
is — what a cool, insolent, presumptuous cad ! 
How could she have married him ! How can 
she endure him ! To have him scarcely speak 
to her every day, and then patronizing her 
in her wretchedness with ‘ My darlings * and 
‘ My owns/ and — and kiss her so ! I should 
die — I should run away ! And then that 
great baby always staring, staring, staring 
with the same big, solemn eyes ! And to 
have taken so much trouble and to be treated 
so ! ” She remembered suddenly a strange 
dream which she had had once all night long. 
She would start up, shudder, try to keep 
awake, fall to sleep at last and dream it again. 
It was that she loved the son of the concierge, 
who was pilot on one of the mouches, or 
boats that run up and down tfm Seine, and 


40 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

came to see his father and mother twice a 
month. He was tall and dark, with light- 
blue eyes, clear, round, wicked. She dreamed 
that he had kneeled to kiss her hand, and 
that she had looked down at him quite con- 
tent and full of affection. In her dream he 
had been the prince of all her love-stories. 
It had been horrible, but so vivid ; and the 
fact always remained — she had loved him in 
the dream. She shuddered and wondered 
why the thought of him returned to her at 
this moment. It was growing very cold there 
on the stairs. The smell of frying potatoes 
came up to her from the Bensons’ rooms. 
Mrs. Benson had a machine for making what 
she called “ Saratoga chips,” and even Ma- 
man Cici acknowledged that Mrs. Benson 
could surpass her in frying potatoes. Jean 
shuddered again. She was not hungry ; the 
rich smell disgusted her. She thought that 
she would go do^yn to her own room and 
pick out darkey tunes for Venus on her violin, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 4 1 

using it like a banjo, without the bow ; but 
when she opened the door Venus was not 
there, and the fire was low and sullen under 
a flaking of yellow-gray ashes. Jean hesi- 
tated ; somehow she did not wish to be alone. 
She decided finally to call on Maman Cici, 
but had to knock three tirqes before anyone 
answered. Maman Cici was speaking very 
excitedly to someone who answered with a 
gentle, low ripple of timid sound. “ Entrez ! ” 
shouted Maman Cici, finally, in the tone of one 
who says, “ Eh bien ! allez au diable ! je m’en 
fiche!” When Jean entered she found the 
toilet-table pulled forward, and three tallow 
candles burning in candelabra of imitation 
Saxe china on either side of the muslin* 
framed toilet-glass. Piles of embroidered 
cambric were tossed to right and left, on the 
chairs, the tables, the bed — even the floor. 
Maman Cici, very purple, her forehead and 
long upper lip covered with little drops of 
perspiration, stood gesticulating in a chemise 


42 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

and petticoat of rose-colored surah, heavily 
embroidered and fluttering with little knots 
of ribbon. Her uncorseted form rolled amply 
into i$s natural contour. A little woman, thin, 
bent, with a tired brown face under a round 
black bonnet, and her hands folded before 
her over her black skirt, stood receiving the 
outpour of reproaches, with an r even under- 
tone of meek explanation. 

Maman Cici’s one pronounced fad was a 
love of elaborate underclothes, and her large 
wardrobes were filled with them. When- 
ever a novelty of this description appeared 
at the Louvre or the Bon Marche, Madame 
Vamousin bought it immediately. She had 
nightgowns, petticoats, chemises, in all col- 
ors, in all shapes, in nearly all materials. 
One day she cried when she found that two 
charmingly embroidered nightgowns, which 
she had bought for a mere nothing, would 
not meet about her huge body, and had to 
be disposed of to the slim little Virginian 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 43 

Maman Cici was very fond of Jean, but it 
made her unhappy to think of those wonder- 
ful nightgowns wasting their beauty on 
Jean’s uncivilized, goggle-eyed blac^: ser- 
vant, when Auguste Vamousin, with his keen 
appreciation of the beautiful, might have had 
them to delight in. 

“ Figure to yourself,’" cried Maman Cici, 
when she discovered that it was Jean who 
had been knocking, her mottled shoulders 
undulating with the vigor of her movement, 
4 ‘ figure to yourself, Jeanne, mon bijou, that 
this ninny has ruined — ruined my four lovely 
new sets of underclothes — has utterly ruined 
them, and Monsieur Vamousin comes to- 
morrow ! It is his fete — the fete of Saint 
Augustin — and I had intended a pleasant sur- 
prise. But now, with his keen eye, he will 
see everything ! And look at her, the idiot ! 
How she stands there trickling out excuses 
like a robinet ! Oh, what a disappointment ! 
what a disappointment ! What a life is ours, 


44 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

my dear child ! ” • She turned round and 
round before the mirror, looking at herself 
from every side by means of the little glass 
which she held in her hand. Her flesh 
showed through the eyelets of the embroid- 
ery as though it had been stretched over ma- 
genta silk, and her great back looked like a 
brick wall from which the stucco had been 
torn in the shape of a V. Enormous cotton 
ankles protruded from the edge of the thin 
pink material. Her feet, in their large gray 
felt slippers, reminded Jean of oblong hornets’ 
nests. She wished to laugh in spite of her 
own anger, which still throbbed fiercely. 

“But what is the matter?”* she asked, 
finally. “ It looks very well, Maman Cici ; 
how is it ruined ? ” 

She came forward to examine the work 
more closely. “ There are hundreds of 
things ! ” cried Madame Vamousin. “ It i& 
too long. The embroidery is too common. 
I ordered marguerites, and that idiot has put 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 45 

a pattern that one has seen for six months at 
the Bon Marche ! I wished something quite 
novel, quite original. There, go ! ” she 
cried, suddenly, turning again to the little 
sewing-woman ; “ there is nothing to be 

done ; it’s too late. I shall have to take 
them, but you’ll never get another stitch of 
work from me ! ,r She snatched her huge 
blue satin corset from the bed and began 
hooking herself into it as the other left the 
room. '* 

“ They are all alike,” she said, speaking 
between her gasps, for she had to hold her 
breath when she fastened her stays ; “ they 
are all alike, these couturieres ; all liars, all 
cheats, all idiots. But you look tired, little 
Jeanne. You have worked too hard to-day, 
and you have come to tell Maman Cici of 
your discouragement, hein ? ” She envel- 
oped herself in a wide gray dressing-gown 
trimmed with violet braid, and drew two 
easy-chairs covered with red cretonne to the 


46 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

fire. Sinking slowly into one with the col- 
lapse of the deep feather-stuffed cushion, she 
held out her fat hand to Jean, who had es- 
tablished herself in the other, with one foot 
on the fender, her elbow on her raised knee, 
and her chin in the hollow of her palm. 
“That is it, hein ? ” repeated Madame Va- 
mousin. Jean moved her finger in negation, 
without lifting her chin from her hand. 

“No,” she said, “I’m not discouraged; 
it’s rage. I’m furiously angry.” 

Madame Vamousin made a comprehend- 
ing motion with her head up and down. 
“Ah, is it not dreadful, the anger? It is 
worse than anything. I suffer more from a 
fit of anger than when I eat too much com- 
pote. And I have been angry to-day ! 
Heavens, in what a rage I have been ! ” 

“ What do you do when you feel like 
that?” said Jean. 

Madame Vamousin opened her well- 
padded hands, shut them, opened them 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 47 

again. “ Rien, absolument rien,” she said, 
with each movement. 

“ I shall do something,” muttered Jean, 
with locked teeth. 

“ It will not help you, chere petite. I 
have tried everything; nothing helps.” 

“ Then I will invent something.” 

“ You cannot, you cannot, cher bijou,” the 
other assured her. They were silent for a 
moment. Finally Jean said: 

“ When was the time that you were the 
angriest in all your life, Maman Cici ? ” 

The broad, glazed face settled into creases 
of thought ; the blue eyes grew grave, even 
sombre. She fitted her short forefinger, 
with its three circles of fat, into the cleft in 
her broad chin ; with the other hand she 
balanced the short poker back and forth. 
“ I’ll tell you,” she said, presently. “ It was 
the first time I saw my Auguste kiss another 
woman. I didn’t even know that I loved 
him. It was his cousin ; he had a right to 


48 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

kiss her ; it had been a habit in the family 
for years. But that made no difference to 
me. I was beside myself; I hated him; I 
hated everyone. I felt uglier, fatter, redder 
than I ever felt in my life. Oh, yes ; I know 
that Auguste loves me for my good heart — 
for that and my taste in dress, and my gift 
for cooking. He doesn’t love me in the or- 
dinary way ; but his way satisfies me — quite 
satisfies me. You comprehend, my child ? ” 
She paused and put the poker back into its 
brass holder. “Yes, that was the angriest 
moment of my life,” she repeated. 

Jean sat quite still, gazing into the fire un- 
til her eyes felt hot. 

“ But,” she said, after a pause, “ you said 
it made you hate him. Why did you hate 
him ? ” 

“ Because I loved him,” replied the other, 
simply. 

“You — you loved him, and that made you 
hate him ? ” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 49 

“ Certainly, petite. You see you are a 
jeune fille. These matters can’t be ex- 
plained to you satisfactorily. When one 
loves one sometimes hates, and when one 
hates one sometimes loves. It happens all 
at the time. Why, often one finds out that 
one loves in that way! — often, often ! You 
don’t think of a man, except perhaps as a bel 
homme ; you don’t talk to him ; you don’t 
care where he goes or from whence he 
comes, or what women he speaks with, and, 
pouf! all at once you hate him ; and then, 
nine times out of ten, you may be sure you 
love him.” 

Jean’s heart beat furiously; her hands 
grew cold, her lips dry. 

“ But why ? but why ? ” she kept repeat- 
ing in a thick voice. 

“ Why ? it's as evident as Carnot ! Voila ! 
A man doesn’t make you feel. Suddenly he 
makes you feel. There it is in two sen- 
tences. If he can’t make you feel he is noth- 
4 


50 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

ing to you ; if he can make you feel he is 
something to you. I wouldn’t cry over my 
ruined clothes for the sake of Boulanger, 
hein ? ” She opened her smooth lips in a 
great whispering laugh, which showed both 
rows of teeth far back, and the pink cushion 
of her large tongue. 

“ But to love and to hate together, it’s im- 
possible ! ” said Jean. “ You — you couldn’t 
hate and love like that at the same time ; it’s 
like the verse about God and mammon ; it’s 
nonsense, it’s nonsense,” she cried, growing 
excited all of a sudden. She got up and ran 
to the window, jerking it open. “ It’s like 
an oven in here ! ” she said. The noise of 
the street below rushed in on a gush of cold 
air. One could see the long shafts of the 
electric light on the Tour Eiffel turning 
slowly through the velvety-gray air, like the 
spokes of an immense wheel of white fire. 
A cab horse stumbled and slipped on the 
muddy street below. The cabman’s harsh 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


51 


oath and the slash of his whip sounded 
sharp on the damp air. 

“ Voyons ! ” called Madame Vamousin, 
“ come away from that death-hole, cherie, 
or you’ll soon be where you can neither hate 
nor love/' 

Jean closed the window and came back 
again, with her little strong fingers knit to- 
gether behind her head, which was bent back 
upon them, her gold-colored eyes fastened 
on the ceiling. 

“ It can’t be ; it’s absurd,” she was repeat- 
ing over and over. 

Maman Cici sat with lazy good-nature 
working her heels in and out of her gray felt 
slippers in front of the whiffing blaze. 

“Ah, well! ah, well! You shall talk to 
me about it in three years, petite,” she said 
wisely. “ I have seen life ; I know. I have 
married a man of twenty-six, and I was fifty 
my last birthday. I am honest, hein, cherie ? 
I know what it is to look for the gray hairs in 


52 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

my head and find them ; and to look for the 
gray hairs in his head and not find them ! I 
know what it is to wish every pretty woman 
in the world dead, dead, dead — and buried 
too ; and yet to love them after all. I am as 
bad as a man for that. I have always adored 
beauty. You know my Auguste.” 

“ But to love a man and to hate him, all at 
once, it is as though you said, 4 I feel very 
well to-day ; I will walk and ride to the Bon 
Marche at the same time.’ It is just exactly 
like that.” 

“But no, not at all!” said Madame Va- 
mousin. 

“It is, it is!” cried Jean. She stamped 
her foot. Her eyes were brilliant, the pupils 
so dilated that about them there was only a 
narrow band of gold like a fairy wedding- 
ring. 

“ It is ! ” she cried again, “ and when I 
hate once I hate forever, let me tell you, 
Maman Cici.” She came a step nearer to 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


53 


the placid great figure by the fire. “ And 
when I hate, I hate ! ” She stood still a sec- 
ond, quivering, then rushed from the room, 
slamming the door behind her. 

“ Oh ! la, la ! ” said Maman Cici, turning 
ponderously to stare at the blank door. 


CHAPTER V. 


Jean rushed up the dark stairs two steps 
at a timq, to her room door, which she tore 
open with a violent gesture. A flare of yel- 
low-red light enveloped her ; Venus had 
made a genuine negro’s fire in the little 
grate, and was toasting the bread for their 
supper. An old German tea-kettle of dark 
copper tottled and sang on the hob. Upon 
the soft mass made by the black girl’s skirts 
a little white Italian wolf-dog had established 
himself. All looked bright, gay, home-like ; 
and somehow she was soothed, by the sight 
of Venus with her blue head-kerchief, her 
blue gingham apron, her busy black hands 
her serious, scorching face. It remind- 
ed her of Virginia, and of her small bed- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 55 

room next to her Aunt Hetty’s, where in the 
autumn she and Venus used to toast chest- 
nuts on the hearth under a great heap of 
wood ashes. 

This room was larger than that one and 
had been bare and white. A square of blue 
Algerian stuff, bought for twenty francs at 
the Louvre, at a bargain, lay in the centre of 
the floor. Sketches in oil and charcoal, the 
gifts of the different painters in the pension, 
were pinned about the whitewashed walls. 
There were two blue-and-white china jugs 
of nasturtiums in the window, which was 
draped with curtains of blue and white cre- 
tonne at nine sous the yard. A pretty 
red - serge dressing - gown lay across the 
foot of the bed, which was covered with the 
same cretonne as that of the window-cur- 
tains. On the shelf at its head lay the vio- 
lin-case, where Jean could touch it even in 
her sleep. 

She went now and sat down on the floor 


5 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

beside Venus, taking her slim crossed ankles 
into both hands. It was sweet to feel that 
someone loved her as entirely and obstreper- 
ously as Venus. It was even in that mood a 
comfort to know that there was someone who 
would swear “Yes’’ or “No” to whatever 
she said quite impartially, only watching her 
face to see which word would be most ac- 
ceptable. 

She knew that she had only to say : 
“Vee, Maman Cici is a horrid old thing, 
who contradicts every word I utter, and I 
detest her!” for Venus to reply, earnestly: 
“Yease, Miss Jean, she sut’ny is!” or: 
“Vee, I do love Maman Cici; she is real- 
ly an angel ! ” to hear the ardent acquies- 
cence : “Now, Miss Jean, honey, yo’ is 
right ! ” She watched Venus toasting little 
oval slices of bread and wondered what 
she would say. She felt angry with Ma- 
man Cici, too. With a sudden revulsion 
of feeling she almost felt angry with Venus 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 57 

when she thought how sure she would be 
to say whatever she imagined would please 
her mistress — never what was really in her 
mind. 

“ Get the violin, Vee,” she said, suddenly, 
“ and let’s sing f Rise up in de chariot early 
in de mornin’.’ ” 

“ Don’ yo’ wan’ yo’ supper fust ? ” asked 
the girl, surprised. 

“No, I don’t; you can eat it all while I 
am playing. Go on, get it quick ! ” 

Venus took the violin from its case, slowly 
unwound the white silk handkerchief in 
which it was always wrapped and handed 
it to her, saying, at the same time : 

“ Don’ yo’ wan’ no tea ? ” 

“ No, I don’t. I’m tired ; I’m cross. I 
want you to sing ‘ Rise up in de chari- 
ot’ with me. You can eat it all. If I’m 
hungry you can make me some later. 
Now— — ” 

Distending one of her purple - brown 


58 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


cheeks with toast and butter in an egg-like 
lump, Venus joined in the strange hymn : 


“Rise up in dee chayiot — early in dee mawnin’, 

Rise up in dee chayiot — early in dee mawnin’, 

Rise up in dee chayiot — early in dee mawnin’, 

Hope I may jine dee ban’ ! 

“ Aw, Lord, have mussy on me, 

Aw, Lord, have mussy on me, 

Aw, Lord, have mussy on me, 

An’ I hope I may jine de ban’ ! ” 

Jean paused a moment between the first 
and second verses. 

“ You’ll choke yourself if you try to eat 
and sing at the same time,” she said. 

“ Well, I’m thoo now,” replied Venus. 
Then they went on : 

“ Wing away to heaben — early in dee mawnin’,” etc., 

through the same mournful repetition of 
words and air. 

Jean sat quite still finally, nursing the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 59 

violin in her arms as though it had been a 
brown baby. 

“ Is yo’ done ? ” asked Venus. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Yo’ ain’ gwine play no mo’ tuh-night ? ” 
“ No, no ; I’m tired ; don’t talk to me.” 

“ Nor m, or co’se not. But, please’m, play 
‘ ’Possum up de Sumion Tree.’ ” 

Jean burst into one of her clear staccato 
laughs. She played that and two others ; 
then stopped again and said, suddenly: 

“ Vee, were you ever in love ? ” 

“ Me ! Lor’m ! Nor’m ! ” 

“ And what do you think about this, then, 
Venus ? Do you think anyone could hate 
you and love you at the same time ? ” 

Venus got up and began to put away the 
toasting-fork and scrape the crumbs into a 
wooden platter which Jean used to set out- 
side her window for the birds. 

“ Hit sut’ny is queer yo’ axin’ me dat, 
Miss Jean,” she said slowly as she walked 


DO ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

to and fro. “ I ain’t thought uh dat nigger 
fuh iears an’ iears.” 

“ What nigger ? What are you talking 
about?” asked Jean. Her voice was sharp, 
and the excited look began to come back 
into her eyes. 

“ Wait, I’ll tell you,” said Venus. Then 
she repeated, solemnly : “ Hit sut’ny is, cu- 
yious you ax me dat question.” 

She came and sat down on the floor be- 
side her mistress, spreading her blue ging- 
ham apron tightly over her drawn-up knees, 
and wrapping them about with her long arms. 
She had a great mass of imitation rubies on 
her black forefinger, which the firelight made 
gorgeous. Her great, soft eyes swam sen- 
timentally about under their thick lids. 

“ Miss Jean,” she began, in a low voice, 
impressively, “ dey waz a little boy onct 
when I waz a little gyrl, an’ dee way dat boy 
treat me waz scan’lous. You never see a 
nigger as wuzn’t bawn a fool ack so in yo’ 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 6 1 

life. He useter heave rocks at me, an’ gre’t 
big ole sticks, an’ chestnut burrers, an’ rakes 
an’ potaters, an’ all whatever he could git he 
hands on. I ’clare I waz ’fraid to go ’bout ! 
No sooner did dat boy lay eyes on me dan 
he waz arter me clippity-clip, a-tryin’ to bust 
my head open wid his wickedness. He ack 
so scan’lous, dee preacher come hisself an 
ax my ma what make he ack so. An’ she 
say she don’ know. Den he go to dee 
boy’s ma and he ax her what make he ack 
so, and she say ’twuz unbeknownst to her. 
So time goes on an’ I grows up, an’ den it 
all come out ! Dat boy, he up an’ tell on 
hisself. He say ’twan nothin’ but love make 
he ack so. He say he love me so he jess 
had to fling dem rocks an’ fence-rails an’ 
chestnut-burrers at me ! He say he love me 
so hard he hate me ; an’ da’s de truf as I’m 
a livin’ ! An’ when you goes back tuh Char- 
lott’sville you kin see him an’ ax him fuh 
you’se’f, now ! ” 


62 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


Jean stared at her excitedly. 

“ It’s ridiculous ! ” she said, at last ; “ it’s 
ridiculous nonsense ! I don’t believe a word 
of it ! How could he hate you and love you 
at the same time ? He couldn’t, he couldn’t 
if he wanted to. He didn’t love you, I 
know he didn’t ! ” 

“ Miss Jean, honey,” said Venus, still 
very solemn, “ dat nigger did love me — he 
did love me, he did love me, an’ you can 
believe me when I says it, ’cause he loves 
me now this hyer minute, an’ he say he alluz 
will!” 


CHAPTER VI. 


Jean got up slowly from the floor. She 
folded the silk handkerchief about the violin 
and laid it away in its case. Somehow this 
always reminded her of putting a child into 
its little coffin. Her eyes stung suddenly 
with tears. 

“ You can go to bed, Vee,” she said, in a 
low voice, “ you look sleepy. And shut the 
door ; there’s a draught.” 

After Venus had gone she sat down in a 
deep tapestry chair which the Bensons had 
given her last Christmas, the dark-red serge, 
with its Capuchin hood, wrapped about her, 
her bare feet sunk in the dog’s thick coat for 
warmth. Her face looked pale and small 
under the pointed cowl, which she had 
drawn forward. She sat staring into the 


64 A C CORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

coals, which settled lower and lower in the 
grate with little tinkling sounds, trying to 
catch the wheel of her thoughts by one of 
its whirling spokes and turn it another way, 
as she had sometimes shut her eyes in a 
train and forced herself to imagine it mov- 
ing in the opposite direction. She could 
not do this. She went on saying the same 
thing over and over in her mind. Why had 
she been so angry ? Why had she felt like 
crying out and rushing from the room when 
he had kissed his wife — that long, long kiss ? 
She could see him now, and shuddered sud- 
denly. Why had she always thought him 
so handsome, so wonderful ? The others 
did not think so ; only she and — his wife. 
Why had she always remembered every 
word that he had ever said to her ? Why 
had she always liked him until to-night, and 

then all at once, when he had Why had 

she felt so angry with Maman Cici for say- 
ing that one could hate and love at the same 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 65 

time ? Why had she kept the only note he 
had ever written her — three lines on a bit of 
charcoal paper ; and why had she left it al- 
ways in the case with her violin ? It was 
as though another girl, more religious, had 
put it in her Bible. Why had she learned 
those few words by heart ? They were 
utterly commonplace, even banal : 

“ Dear Miss Jean : Will you take dinner 
with us to-day ? My wife has made a won- 
derful oyster-soup out of salsify, and wishes 
you to share our delight. 

“ A. Farrance.” 

She had thought that she valued it for the 
signature of one who would some day be a 
great artist. This reason faded away now, 
as the marvellous inventions of one’s dreams 
become nonsense by daylight. She had kept 

it because She gave a low cry and hid 

her face in her small, fire-burnt hands. How 
wicked, how hideous her heart had been for 
5 


66 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


months without her knowledge. What had 
happened to her ? What dreadful change 
had been working in her, silently, strongly ? 
Was it this wicked Paris, that sank into one’s 
pores like the stealthy poison of malaria? 
Was she becoming vile, and conscienceless, 
just from breathing the same air with those 
others ? She went again to the window, 
tearing it open, fronting the huge night with 
her little, slender body. The piles of houses 
jutted dark, malevolent, against the hollow 
agate of the sky. Past a circle of mist, the 
dark skeleton of the Eiffel Tower leaped 
upward like another Babel, and was lost in a 
murky cloud. The streets were empty, noise- 
less ; the grimy doors of the closed portes- 
cockbres seemed to her like the silent jaws 
of tombs where the wicked are buried. The 
horror of Paris came upon her. She thought 
of the crimes progressing, throb by throb, 
under those callous roofs. She thought how 
somewhere some poor wretch was perhaps 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 67 

being strangled or hacked to death with the 
first thing that came to hand. She remem- 
bered that someone had told her only the day 
before : “ There is an average of two murders 
a week in Paris.” Two murders a week — 
two murders ! Twice a week there was some 
poor creature who for one crashing instant 
said to himself or herself, “ I am one of the 
two murders this week ! I am being murdered 
— I ! I ! I ! ” It might be going on now, be- 
hind those black walls opposite, in the street 
below, in this very Maison Roget ! “ Oh, 

how little we know of you, you terrible city ! ” 
thought the child. “ You are worse a thou- 
sand times than your worst book ! You are 
cruel ; you are deadly ! You poison the sons 
that wish to live in you, but not of you ! You 
make our hearts black and bad, little by little-, 
without our knowing it ! Oh, if it were only 
a bright October day in dear Virginia, and 
Venus and I were going to look for chinca- 
pins in the red woods ! If it were a clear, 


68 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


blue Sunday, and I were only going to church 
with Aunt Hetty ! and at th$ door I would 
stop while I shook the pink dust from her 
black dress. I can smell those dusty skirts 
of hers now, and the cologne on her folded 
pocket-handkerchief, warm from her pocket. 
Dear Aunt Hetty ! so good, so kind ! What 
would she think of me if she could look into 
my heart to-night ? What would she think if 
she knew that 1 had not read my Bible for 
months and months ? Oh, I do love God ; 
I do pray to Him ; I do believe in Him ! But 
it is just the way I was with Aunt Hetty. I 
didn’t kiss her enough ; I didn’t hug her and 
tell her often enough how I loved her. I must 
think of Him oftener ; I must read His words 
oftener ; I must try to go to church some- 
times. Oh, dear Father, forgive me ! forgive 
me ! Let me wake up to-morrow and find 
this is a hideous, hideous dream ! ” She 
dropped on her knees, staring up into the 
dim hollow above, and straining her hands 



She Dropped on Her Knees, Staring up into the Great 
Hollow Above. — p. 68. 


































i / I Pv . 




“ 










. 






ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 69 

together as though praying physically as well 
as mentally. “ Oh, make me good ! make 
me good ! ” she said over and over. “ I want 
to be good more than anything. Let me 
find it a dream ! let me ! let me ! let me ! ’’ 
There came a knock at the door. She sprang 
to her feet with chattering teeth. 

“ Who is it ? she said, finally mastering 
herself. 

“ It is I,” answered the voice of Farrance. 
“ My wife is very ill. She keeps asking for 
you. She is suffering very much. Will you 
stay with her while I go for a doctor ? ” 

Jean opened the door at once and they 
stood looking at each other. He was very 
pale — as pale as she was. “ She is very ill,” 
he said again ; “ you won’t be afraid to stay 
with her alone ? ” 

“ No,” answered the girl. She stepped 
back into her room to blow out the candle, 
and came out again, closing the door behind 
her. 


7 O ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“ Thank you,” said Farrance. He went 
after her a step or two as she began to mount 
the stairs to his apartment. “ Thank you,” he 
repeated ; “ you are as good as gold, child.” 

He heard the little feet pattering swiftly up 
the dark stairway above,- but no answer came 
back to him. “ Good little soul ! good little 
soul ! ” he said to himself ; “I was harsh to 
her this evening.’’ He found himself running 
with all his might through the midnight 
streets without knowing in what direction. 
Then he stopped short, thought a moment, 
and went on rapidly toward the house of a 
Doctor Girot whom the Bensons had once 
recommended to him. 

Mrs. Farrance held out her arms as Jean 
entered. “ Dear, dear girl ! ” she said, gasp- 
ingly. She was propped up among the pil- 
lows, her nightgown open at the throat, her 
hair tangled about her ghastly face. “ Feel 
how cold my feet are,” she whispered. “ Do 
you think I am dying, Jean ? ” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 7 1 

“Oh, no! no! no! no!” cried the girl, 
clasping her ; " it’s the reaction from this 
evening. I will rub you. Have you any 
mustard-leaves ? ” 

She put several between folds of linen and 
placed them about on the fragile body, which 
was covered with a cold sweat. Rolling 
back the sleeves of her dressing-gown, she 
knelt down and rubbed the icy feet and legs 
until the blood began to circulate. 

“ Dear girl ! ’’ murmured the poor woman 
again. Presently she noticed that Jean’s feet 
were bare. 

“ Put on my slippers,” she said. But they 
could not be found anywhere. 

“ Then put on Adrian’s,” she insisted. To 
please her Jean went and slipped her deli- 
cate, slim feet into the large man’s shoes. She 
came back in them, with a strange, smooth 
motion, as though wading through something. 
Her little ankles were like little white flower- 
stems rising from clods of soil. 


72 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ How funny you look,” said the other, 
laughing. “ I wish Adrian could see you.” 
And she fell into a fit of coughing, during 
which she clutched Jean until the tender flesh 
of her arms and breast was bruised under 
the desperate fingers. As the girl laid her 
back against the pillows she devoured her 
face with wide, agonized eyes, which seemed 
saying audibly : “ Don’t let me go ! hold 
me ! I depend on you to keep me here, 
Jean! Death is horrible! hold me fast, 
fast ! ” 

After some moments Jean left her to kindle 
a fire in the little stove. She boiled some 
water and made a cupful of Liebig’s beef- 
tea, into which she put some brandy. Mrs. 
Farrance drank half of it, and a faint glow 
came into her white face. 

“ It is life ! ” she whispered, with a brilliant 
smile. “ My good little darling ! ” 

“ I am not good, I am not good,” said 
Jean, trembling. She knelt down and took 


She Knelt Down and Took up One of the White 
Hands. — p. 72. 



ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


73 


up one of the white hands, covering it with 
kisses, holding it to her heart, which 
throbbed heavily. “ Don’t call me good,” 
she implored ; “ it makes me so unhappy.” 

“ Well, I won’t, then,” answered the other, 
smiling ; “ but you can know what I am 
thinking.” 

“ Oh, I love you ! I love you ! ” cried the 
girl, holding her fast with both strong little 
arms. “ You are the best friend I have in 
the world. I haven’t thanked you enough. 
I haven’t told you how I love you. ' I wish I 
could bear it for you. I wish I could take 
all your pain and sadness and let you be 
well and — happy — happy.” 

“ Oh, my sweet little thing,” said the 
woman, big tears rolling slowly down her 
face. She put one hand on the roughly 
curling hair. “ My precious child,” she said, 
“ you make it so much easier for me.” 

“ I make what easier ? ” asked Jean, 
startled. 


74 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Death ! ” answered the other, gently* 

Doctor Girot came and pronounced Jean 
a remarkable nurse* She had done exactly 
what he would have done had he come half 
an hour sooner. Then he wrote a prescrip- 
tion, which he said would soothe the cough, 
and went away. Farrance came and sat on 
the other side of the bed and held one of his 
wife’s hands against his breast* He looked 
as ill as she did. “ I believe if she dies it 
will kill him,” thought Jean, dully, and then 
wondered why she did not cry — she was so 
sorry for them both. They sat that way a 
long while. Suddenly Mrs. Farrance said : 

“ She has been like a little angel to me.” 

“ I know it,” answered Farrance. He put 
out his slender, dark hand and laid it over 
Jean’s : “ Will you forgive me, dear child, 
for being rude this evening? I was so 
wretched.” 

She did not look up or reply, and then all 
at once fell into sharp sobbing. The next 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


75 


moment she was as quiet as ever. She lifted 
her eyes and looked, not at him, but at his 
wife. 

“ Of course,” she said, in a low voice. 
“ I — I understood perfectly.” 

Mrs. Farrance patted her curls again with 
her thin hand. 

“Yes, of course you did, darling,” she 
whispered. “ Adrian is so silly sometimes.” 
Then added, with a smile : “ But you are both 
too good to me.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


The next day Jean felt so tired that she 
gave herself the unusual luxury of going to 
her music-lesson in a cap. She left Venus 
behind to wait on Mrs. Farrance, and walked 
slowly past the long array of dingy vehicles 
and broken-kneed horses at the nearest cab- 
stand. Most of the wretched-looking brutes 
were feeding, their scarred noses thrust in- 
to bags of oats ; while the others stared 
vaguely ahead of them with their great meek 
eyes, which went to the girl’s heart. She 
wished to take them, with their poor bent 
knees, whip-streaked sides, and jutting hip- 
bones, into her loving arms and press them 
£o her breast. Poor, patient, hard-working, 
uncaressed beasts, she thought, there must 
be a heaven for cab horses somewhere ; and 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 77 

smiled through the tears which had filled her 
eyes at a whimsical thought which came to 
her. She fancied them in that happy place, 
sleek, gay, sitting on the boxes of golden 
cabs and lashing into a desperate trot or 
broken-backed canter the red-faced cockers 
who now belabored them. 

She finally chose a cab which had the 
sign “Chauffee” and a tolerably capable- 
looking gray between its battered shafts. As 
the cabby came to the window to receive 
her directions, a sudden idea possessed her. 

“ A la Madeleine, ” she told him, and 
leaned back, pulling up the window and fold- 
ing her long cloak closer about her. The 
glass soon became dimmed with her breath 
and the warmth of the hot-water tin. Paris 
went past her in blurred masses of light and 
shade and color. She tried to put more 
serious thoughts from her mind, and diverted 
herself by wondering how she would feel if 
instead of the musty green cloth about her 


7 8 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

had risen a fragrant padding of fine morocco ; 
if, instead of the cabby’s surly back and tat- 
tered rug, she could have looked through 
the clear glass of her coupe at the smart blue 
coat and crested buttons of a handsome 
livery ; if before her a little carriage clock in 
its carefully padded case had been marking 
the hour of her appointment for lunch at the 
house of Madame la Marquise de Carrabas. 
She saw herself dressed in the most charm- 
ing toilet and wrapped in black fox fur from 
head to foot. Her gloves were made to 
order; her capote had been invented spe- 
cially for her by Petit. She awoke from this 
dream to find herself before the Madeleine, 
and her cocker quarrelling savagely with a 
private coachman, who was appealing to a 
gardien de la paix on behalf of his scratched 
carriage lamp. She dropped the fare into the 
hand which her cabman extended mechani- 
cally, while still abusing the other man, not 
ceasing for a moment, even while he assured 


ACC OR Dim TO SAINT J OHM. 


79 


himself that he had not been cheated by a 
centime of his pourboire » The funeral train 
of a little child was descending the stairs as 
she went up. It was a tiny coffin, pure white, 
and three little children walked on each side, 
holding the ribbons which were attached to 
its wreaths of artificial flowers and beads. 
Two women followed, their arms about each 
other’s waists and thick black veils cover- 
ing them from head to foot. Jean seemed to 
feel an actual wave of anguish beat against 
her as they passed. 

“ How they are suffering ! how they are 
suffering ! ” she said to herself, as she en- 
tered the great church. “ Oh, how sad, 
how sad the world is ! y 

The Madeleine is like a beautiful, noble- 
looking woman with a trivial heart. Jean 
shrank back as she entered the jarring in- 
terior. Sho had imagined something dim, 
prayerful, solemn beyond words. The crim- 
son and gold and many candles pained hen 


80 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Still, it was a place where people came to 
find God ; and she slipped into a row of 
empty chairs and knelt down, hiding her 
face. She knelt there a long while without 
being able to collect her thoughts, which 
continued to wander on and on as they had 
done in the cab. Exquisite gowns floated 
before her. She saw herself in jewels of 
blue and carmine, as a recognized artiste 
playing "at some great Parisian soiree. She 
saw the eyes of people fixed with admiration 
on the lissom rise and fall of the slight arm 
that drew the bow. She would wear a dress 
all white, soft ; a row of moonlight-colored 

pearls around her throat. She would 

Here she heard a voice saying : “ And help 
me, and help me, and make her well, for 
Jesus’ sake.” She roused herself and tried 
again. \ 

What was it that she had come there for ? 
To ask God to help her to be good. Yes, 
and to make her dear friend Mrs. Farrance 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 8 1 

well, even if she, Jean, had to give her life in- 
stead. Yes, and more ; to tell her what to do 
to keep her heart from growing callous and 
wicked. Again her mind wandered. She 
would play Chopin as no one had ever played 
him. She would make those pretty, world- 
ly eyes shed real tears. She would 

All at once a great billow of harmony vol- 
umed through the church. It beat against 
her, as though she had been a rock on the 
shore and the night tide coming in. The 
truth rushed over her with those waves of 
sound — the forgotten truth which held her 
very life in its core. “ My God, my God ! ” 
she whispered, panting, “ I love him ! It is 
an awful sin ; forgive me, let me die ! ” The 
music seemed to lift her heart from her body 

and dash it from wall to wall. She shut her 
/ 

eyes and knelt there, trembling, grasping the 
wooden back of the chair in front of her, as 
though tossing on an actual sea. “My God, 
I will show Thee my heart, naked, naked as 


82 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

it is ! I will not make one excuse ; I will 
not say I did not know ! I will tell Thee all, 
all ! I know now, and yet I cannot help it ! 
I love him, I love him ! I wish to give my 
life for her — or I think I do, I think I do ! 
Oh, my God, let it be true that I really 
want to do it! And yet it comes into my 
mind — it darts there before I can stop it — 
the thought that if she dies he may love me ! 
Oh, my God ! let me die here now in Thy 
house, with Thy music about me ! I can be 
good here ; I can put it from me ; I can be 
as Thou wouldst have me ! I believe, help 
Thou mine unbelief. Jesus, Lord ! say to 
me as Thou didst to the poor thief : ‘ To- 
day, to-day ; not to-morrow, not in a week, 
a month, a year, but now, to-day, to-day thou 
shalt be with me in paradise ! ’ Not even in 
paradise, dear Lord — only where 1\ can rest, 
where I can think and have beautiful music, 
and my love for Thee without this awful fear 
in my heart. Oh, my Lord ! my dear\Sav- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 83 

iour ! I will wait ; I will kneel here until 
dark, until they turn me out ; only take me, 
take me ;lhn afraid of myself! I have only 
Thee, Thee and my poor Venus ! Oh, poor 
Venus ! comfort her ; let her feel that it was 
best to take me. Let them send her back 
to Virginia, where such things don’t hap- 
pen.” A great surge of longing swept her, 
a madness of longingjust to see the dark-red 
soil and the haze on the autumn hills once 
more. She started up ; she could not bear 
it ; she would sail for America in two or 
three days. But the next moment she had 
fallen again to her knees. “ No, no ! don’t 
listen to me ! ” she murmured. “ Let it be 
now — this very hour ! ” 

She knelt there a long time, swept by fits 
of trembling, that she unconsciously likened 
to quick scales being run over her body by a 
cold hand. She did not know how many 
minutes or hours had passed. She felt 
numb and stiff. The frenzy of emotion had 


84 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

died out. It was very dark. “ I’m hun- 
gry, she told herself, astonished. Present- 
ly she looked up. It was very dark, except 
at a side altar to the Virgin, where a woman 
and a little boy were kneeling before a half- 
burned candle. Jean went forward a step or 
two softly. There was no one else in the 
great place — only they three. She could 
see that the woman was dressed in thin, 
worn clothes. The child shivered where he 
knelt. She took out her little blue silk 
purse and looked at it in the faded candle- 
light. There was a ten-franc piece in gold. 
She went up to the child and bent over him, 
slipping the gold into his little rough hand. 
The woman turned, astonished ; but when 
the boy held up the money she stared at 
Jean, her mouth working, and then' broke in- 
to noiseless weeping, hiding her face in her 
apron. 

“ C’est ma fillette, ma toute petite fillette, 
ma seule, la seule de ma vie.” She stopped 











She Knelt There Trembling. — p. 84. 























. 







ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 85 

sobbing and looked up pitifully: “ Vous etes 

trop bonne, ma’mselle ; je ne sais ” 

Her lips began to tremble again ; Jean was 
crying. She put out her small hand, and 
the woman took it and held it to her breast, 
then motioned to the child to kiss it. They 
all spoke in whispers. 

“ Je vais prier pour elle,” said Jean at 
last, “ et vous deux, priez pour moi.” She 
stopped suddenly and touched the woman’s 
forehead with her fresh, trembling lips, then 
went quickly out of the church. Nothing 
had happened — nothing, nothing. And yet 
something must come to her after all those 
prayers. She saw a flower-stand across the 
way, under a blue-white electric lamp. The 
bunches of lilac, hyacinths, jonquils, glared 
with unnatural colors in the artificial radi- 
ance. She went over and chose a great 
bunch of Parma violets. 

“ She loves violets,” she thought; “and 
I rvould take her a white rosebud too, only 


86 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


I wouldn’t have enough to pay for a cab 
then.” 

The woman gave her the pale grayish- 
purple mass in a cornucopia of white paper, 
and she ran quickly and got into an empty 
cab which was standing near. All the way 
home she kept saying to herself : “ It will 
come, it will come ; it will tell me what to 
do. I believe, I believe ! I know ! ” She 
set her teeth firmly ; her eyes were wide 
and bright. “ God did not take me because 
I have work to do for Him ! I was a coward ; 
He didn’t want me to die like a coward ! But 
I feel brave now — brave, brave, brave ! I 
should like to do the bravest thing in the 
world. What could that be ? Wait, wait.” 
She dropped back suddenly from her 
strained upright position ; a little voice in 
her heart had answered : “ Confess your 

sins one to another. Tell his wife that you 
love him ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Mrs. Farrance was so much better the 
next, day that she asked Jean to read to her. 
After listening to one or two chapters, she 
put out her hand and pressed down the 
book, behind which half the girl’s face was 
hidden. 

“Dear, why are you so pale?” she said. 
“You look worse than I do. Are you suf- 
fering ? ” 

Jean kept her eyes upon the leaves of the 
book in her lap as she drew her thumb 
across them with a sharp whirring sound. 

“ Yes,” she said. “ No — that is — yes.” 

“ Do you think you took cold the oth- 
er night ? ” asked her friend, anxiously. 
“ Won’t you take some quinine ? There is 
some in that little box there, near your hand. 


88 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


Adrian thinks it is necessary in Paris ; he 
takes some every day.” 

“ Oh, it is nothing,” Jean assured her. 
“ I didn’t sleep very well : my violin lesson 
went badly to-day.” 

“ My poor little dear ! ” said Mrs. Far- 
rance, tenderly. 

Jean sat quite still for a moment or two, 
then threw herself on her knees beside the 
bed and hid her face in the palm of her 
friend’s hand. Her breast beat against the 
hard wood of the bed as though bursting, 
but no tears came. She was saying to her- 
self, with ungrammatical insistence : “ It isn’t 
me, it isn’t me, it isn’t me ! ” 

After awhile Mrs. Farrance asked softly : 
“ What are you doing, dear ? ” 

“ I’m trying to pray,” said Jean. 

“But what is the matter? Are you so 
unhappy ? Why, child ? ” 

“ I am wicked, wicked ! ” whispered the 
girl. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 89 

- “ No, good, good ! ” contradicted her 

iriertci, stroking her bent head. “You are 
my own dear good little Jean, and you are 
going to tell me all about it.” 

“Yes,” gasped Jean. “Yes,” she re- 
peated, kneeling up and pushing the hair 
from about her clear face. She lifted Mrs. 
Farrance’s hand and kissed it strongly, sol- 
emnly, three or four times ; then put it from 
her, stroking and smoothing it out upon the 
crumpled bed-clothes. 

“ I mustn’t touch you while I tell you,” she 
said, in a low voice. 

“No, dear?” asked the other, surprised. 

“No. It is very, very dreadful. It is 
something you couldn’t think of. But I’m 
going away; and, please believe it, I do 
love you ! ” She gave a short sob. “ I do 
love you — I do ! ” she said again. 

“ But, my child ” began her friend. 

“You will think I meant to be wicked; 
but oh ! I swear, I swear to you on my 


9 ° ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

honor I will put my hand on the Bible if 
you wish — I never dreamt. iu — -i >> 

She broke off, and then said, in a thick 
voice : “ It’s two days now.” 

“ What is ? ” asked Mrs. Farrance. She 
had lifted herself up in bed on one arm, and 
was staring excitedly at the girl. “ What 
are you talking about, Jean ? ” 

Jean knelt there gazing at her without 
moving. Presently she shut her eyes for a 
moment, swayed a little. Her hands were 
clasped so hard that her arms trembled with 
the strain. 

“ What is it ? what is it ? ” repeated the 
other. “ Jean ! speak ! you frighten me ! ” 
Jean opened her eyes again. They were 
dark, terrified, like the eyes of a dog 
dragged by its collar. 

“ Don’t be frightened ; don’t, please,” she 
said; “I’ll tell you now.” She stopped a 
moment, breathing shortly. Then her voice, 
suddenly small and strange, like a child’s 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 9 1 

voice, said : “ I love him — I love your hus- 
band. I didn’t know it, but I love him.” 
She drew a long, shuddering breath and 
lifted both hands to her face. She heard the 
little clock ticking in the next room. She 
heard Tony stirring and gurgling in his 
sleep. Her heart seemed beating in her 
breast, her throat, her forehead, all at the 
same time. It seemed to her that hours 
passed. She thought of trivial, silly things ; 
of how Mrs. Farrance had put on her little 
pink knitted shawl wrong side out, so that 
the pattern went wrong ; of a darn in the 
counterpane which looked like a cat’s head ; 
of how Tony grew cross-eyed when he held 
the string of gilt beads too close to his dark 
eyes. Then she thought of her Aunt Hetty, 
and of how, if she had lived, this terrible 
thing would never have happened. She 
felt as though she were kneeling in a great 
spiral of darkness, which rolled round and 
round her in thick coils. Suddenly she heard 


92 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Mrs. Farrance saying, in a low voice that 
quivered : “ My poor little darling child, 

come to me ! ” 

She could not see anything when she 
opened her eyes. She had pressed her 
hands so tightly over them that the air was 
full of red whirling specks and great violet 
splotches that shrivelled and spread again. 

“ Come here to me, Jean — close,” said the 
other. 

“ I — I can’t see where you are,” stam- 
mered Jean. She began to move toward the 
bed, still on her knees. Then she felt her- 
self taken by the frail arms and held fast. 
She felt kisses, thick, almost passionate, fall- 
ing on her head. 

“ My poor baby ! my poor little unhappy 
baby ! ” said the woman. Then she began 
kissing and patting her again. She did not 
speak for a long time. 

Jean lay quiet. She felt dazed, as though 
somehow she had. jumped from a vast height 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 93 

without hurting herself. She could not un- 
derstand why Mrs. Farrance held her and 
kissed her. She said to herself dully that it 
had all to be told over again more clearly ; 
she had not made herself understood. 

“ Are you awake, Jean ? ” said the other, 
suddenly. “You haven’t fainted, have 
you ? ” 

Jean made a slight movement with her 
head. 

“Then listen to me, darling. You are 
torturing yourself over nothing. Don’t think 
I don’t comprehend ; but I know just how 
good and white your heart is ; and to love 
with pure, true love never hurt anyone yet. 
It isn’t as though you were a woman, dear, 
and knew all the ways of love. It is differ- 
ent, utterly different. I know how hard it 
must have been for you to tell me ; it was 
one of the noblest things I ever heard of ; it 
was magnificent ! There’s something grand 
about you, darling ! I — I never heard of 


94 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 




anything so touching. I — I ” She 

stopped, and tears began to roll slowly from 
her eyes. 

Jean lifted her head, her face deathly white. 

“You mustn’t be so sorry for me,” she 
said, her voice breaking a little. “ It’s a 
mistake. I haven’t told you plainly enough. 
When I found out that I loved him, I thought 

how — how ” She stopped, and a deep, 

hot crimson welled into her white face. “ I 
thought how lovely it would be to — to — have 
him kiss me once — -just once — just a touch — 
like that ! ” — she let the tip of her finger 
brush the back of the other’s hand very light- 
ly — “ and — and — how I should love to be 
you ! ” She got to her feet shivering again. 
“ That’s all. May I go, now ? ” 

“No, darling, you may not,” said Mrs. 
Farrance. “ Kneel down by me here again ; 
I must talk to you a long time.” 

“ I — I don’t think I can bear it,” whispered 
Jean. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 95 

“ Yes, you can, dear. I will soothe you 
and show you your own heart ; yes, and a 
little piece of mine that I have never shown 
anyone. In the first place, dear, it isn’t as 
though you had been nursing and indulging 
this feeling. As soon as you found out 
about it you were horrified. How you must 
have suffered, poor baby ! ” 

“ Yes — a great deal,” said Jean. 

“ You had no one to go to; you did not 
know what to do ; you thought you were 
one of the wickedest people in the world ? ” 

“ Yes — yes ! ” 

“ Then you determined to do the hardest 
thing that you could think of ? ” 

“ And because it says, ‘ Confess ye your 
sins/ ” 

Mrs. Farrance put her hand over her eyes 
and lay quite still for a moment. 

“ Jean,” she said, finally, “ what has given 
you the greatest pain in all this ? The 
thought of wronging me, wasn’t it ? ” 


9 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

** Yes/’ said the girl. 

Mrs. Farrance lay still again for several 
moments and then said : “ Go and open that 
drawer there and look for a little flat olive- 
wood box. The key is in the next drawer 
between the silk handkerchiefs. Now bring 
them to me/’ 

The girl did as she was told, and as she 
laid them on the bed, Mrs. Farrance put her 
hand on the carved top of the little box. A 
faint, bright color had come into her face. 

“ You will see how I trust you and believe 
in you when I have shown you what is in 
this box,” she said. “No one else in the 
world knows anything about it. But go and 
lock the door first/’ 

When Jean came back Mrs. Farrance 
kissed the little key and then put it in the 
lock. When she lifted the lid Jean saw a 
yellowed photograph, two letters, and what 
looked like an artificial orange flower. 

“ Will you look at that face, dear, and take 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 97 

it to the light — it is too dark over here — then 
come and tell me what you think of it.” 

She leaned back against the pillows, press- 
ing one of the letters to her lips from time to 
time, until Jean returned. 

“ I think it is beautiful,” said the girl. “ It 
looks good, too,” she added. 

Mrs. Farrance smiled, took it from Jean’s 
hand, and tried to make out the features in 
the gray light. She could not do this, and 
laid it on her breast with the letter. 

“ I suppose you have guessed, dear ? ” she 
said. “ That is the man I have loved all my 
life.” 

Jean looked at her wildly, but could not 
speak. 

“ I never loved anyone else — really — as 
one wants to love,” Mrs. Farrance continued. 

I have a true, true affection for my hus- 
band. He is dear ; yes, I love him dearly, 
and I have pretended to love him more than 
I do for his own sake.” 


7 


98 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


“ He worships you,” said Jean, stammer- 
ing. 

“Yes, I know. I have tried, tried, tried; 
there’s no use. When one does not love a 
man at first — in that way — in the one way — 
one need never try — never, never.” 

The clock ticked on slowly for several 
minutes. 

“ But why did you ” began the girl. 

“ No one did anything,” answered her 
friend. That is the way it happens often- 
est. I had a sister. She was so beautiful ; 
younger than I was. She came home from 
school. It was so near my marriage that I 
had bought my wedding-dress and veil and 
wreath.” Jean knew what the orange flower 
in the little box meant now. u They did not 

do a thing ; but I felt — I felt it. Then 

I don’t think I can talk any more about it 
now ; but I have comforted you, dear ? ” 

Jean covered her face, her arms, her hands 
with wild kisses. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 99 

“ Oh, I am so glad I have not hurt you ! 
Oh, I do thank God I have not hurt you ! ” 
she gasped. “ But what difference does it 
make with me ? I am wicked, wicked, wicked 
all the same ! ” 

“ Suppose I told you that I was glad — 
thankful to you for loving him ? ’’ 

“ Oh !” Jean shrank away bewildered. 

“ My dear little child, look at me ; it must 
be written on my face, I think. Yes, it 
is there. And after ? Do you suppose I 
haven’t thought with agony what will become 
of my poor, poor little boy without any wom- 
an to care for him ; and of my Adrian ? Oh, 
Jean ! ” she cried out, suddenly breaking 
down, “ life is terrible, but death is worse — 
worse ! I am afraid of it ! Oh, I am so 
afraid of it ! ” She clung to the girl, stran- 
gling with sobs. “ I try to think of heaven, 
and how lovely it will be, with great fields 
and rivers and lovely flowers, and how our 
souls will go there. And then — then I seem 


100 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


to see the whole world sliced in two, and 
look into all the graves that have ever been 

dug ; and I see O God ! why cannot 

our bodies be taken with our souls ? I am 
a coward — a coward ! I think of it, and it 
frightens me so that I feel like tearing my 
flesh with my hands ! I feel it in the room ; 
it comes and stands by me ! My God, how 
horrible is all this ! Jean, light the candles — 
light all the candles ; bring your violin and 
Venus and play me some jigs, some negro 
dances. Dance for me yourself, Jean ; dance 
‘ Pretty little Lula/ Make it bright and gay. 
Wake up Tony ; he has slept long enough. 
He looks ghastly lying there on his back in 
this dim light. Ah, there is Adrian at the 
door! Let him in, Jean — let him in quick, 
and get him to help you light the candles ! ” 

Jean rushed to the door, her heart seeming 
to push her on with its savage throbs. She 
fumbled with the lock blindly. 

“What is the matter?” asked Farrance, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN IOI 

in a startled voice, from the other side of the 
door. 

“ Nothing — nothing at all,” she called 
gayly ; then opened the door, stood for a 
second gazing at him with a forced, piteous 
smile, and then swung forward against him. 
She had fainted for the first time in her life. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Three weeks later Mrs. Farrance died 
quietly in her sleep one Sunday afternoon. 
Maman Cici dressed her in her loveliest 
nightgown of pure white, and tied it at the 
throat and wrist with satin ribbon. It was 
Jean, however, who brushed the long, pale- 
yellow hair. She thought, while she was 
doing this, of how strange it was that she 
had never seen death before and yet was not 
afraid. She arranged the short curls over 
the forehead as her friend had worn them in 
life, pinning them into place at the side with 
little hairpins. The dead woman’s face was 
sweet and tranquil. She looked much 
younger than she had looked in life ; more 
like a girl, and happier. Her lips wore the 
sweet, almost affected - looking, smile of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 103 

death. Jean bent over and kissed the pale 
cheek. She had heard much of the horror 
of death, of its unearthly chill, its moisture. 
She was astonished to feel, under her kiss, 
only a smooth coldness as one who has been 
walking in the winter air. She kissed her 
again two or three times and then sat hold- 
ing the fragile hand until it grew quite warm 
in hers. Suddenly a thought came to her, 
and she rose and got the little olive'wood 
box and put it between Mrs. Farrance’s 
breast and arm, where no one could see it, 
afterward drawing the thick swaths of hair 
over it with loving precaution. Maman Cici 
had gone away to make herself a cup of 
chocolate. 

After a while Farrance came in and sat 
down on the other side of the coffin. Jean 
rose to go. 

“ No, child,” he said, putting out his hand. 
f< You quiet me, and she would like it.” 

The girl sat down again silently. In spite 


104 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

of her sorrow, she felt more tranquil than 
she had done for many days. The anxiety 
and nursing of the past three weeks had 
somehow done away with her feeling for 
Farrance. She looked at him now with a 
great aching pity, and wondered how she 
could ever have imagined herself in love 
with him. She was so thankful that she 
wished to put her lips to his dead wife’s ear 
and whisper it to her, feeling as though she 
had suddenly been washed as white as snow. 
A man who dreams that he has committed a 
murder, and wakes suddenly, feels as this 
child felt. 

She remembered something that Mrs, Far- 
rance had said to her several times, and 
moved her head quietly in negation, with her 
eyes on the quiet face. She could care for 
Tony without marrying his father; besides, 
he would never care for anyone again. She 
would be good to him, like a little daughter, 
and try to divert him after the first strength 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 10 $ 

of his grief had passed. He in the mean- 
time sat quite silent, one hand ceaselessly 
stroking the band of hair that lay over the 
calm breast with its covering of Maman 
Cici’s finest embroidery. His hand looked 
darker than ever against the blue-white of 
the delicate cambric and the wax-white of 
the smiling face. He had taken off his wife’s 
rings and put them on his own fingers. 
They looked odd and out of place — a little 
turquoise with pearls about it, a hoop of tiny 
diamonds, two hearts in gold with a ruby ar- 
row pinning them together. They caught 
once in her hair, and he stooped down and 
touched them with his lips before unwinding 
them. Once he bent over and kissed with 
slow reverence the delicate body, from the 
quiet head to the pretty feet in their white 
wedding shoes. They would have put her 
wedding-gown on her, but she had been 
obliged long ago to have it dyed blue and 
made into a coverlet for Tony. When he 


10 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

came to the little feet he knelt a long time 
with his face against them. 

The girl said to herself: “ I know he will 
die too — he looks so ill. He looks more the 
way I thought dead people looked than she 
does.” 

They sat there all through the night, and 
when daylight came he looked over at Jean 
and said: “Thank you, dear. You have 
helped me. You had better sleep now.” 

Jean bent over and kissed her once more, 
taking up two or three of the white violets 
which covered her. 

“ Thank you for loving her so much,” said 
Farrance. “ You helped her, too — she told 
me so.” 

Jean could not speak. She began to sob 
piteously for the first time. She could not 
think afterward how she had found her way 
to her own room without hurting herself, she 
was so blind with tears and grief. It seemed 
to her that if she had prayed a little harder 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 107 

and nursed her a little more carefully, had 
loved her a little more strongly, she could 
have kept her alive. 

The funeral took place next day at twelve 
o’clock. Jean had never been to a funeral 
before. When they were half way through 
the service she found that she could not en- 
dure it, and went out, waiting in the church 
door until it should be over. The vague 
murmur of the clergyman’s voice followed 
her, drowned every now and then by the 
passing of an omnibus or a large wagon 
from the Louvre or the Bon Marche. Then 
she heard them singing the dead woman’s 
favorite hymn. She began to sob again and 
ran a little way along the street in an uncon- 
scious- effort to get away from the sound 
which wrung her heart. A man without any 
legs worked himself to her side and held up 
his hand. 

“ I haven’t any money — I haven’t any 
money,” she said, crying. It seemed to her 


108 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

that she could never forget the disappoint 
ment and reproach in those dull eyes. She 
ran after him and put in his hand a little 
plain gold bracelet which she had worn since 
her childhood. As she went quickly away 
again, the man stared after her, bewildered. 
She glanced back and saw him dangling the 
bracelet on his dirty forefinger and looking 
from it to her with the same stupefied ex- 
pression. Suddenly he jerked off his old fur 
cap and bent his maimed body up and down 
in grotesque signs of gratitude. 

When she looked up again they were 
coming out of the church. It had been 
snowing for some time, and the white flakes 
still fell with a kind of delicate deliberation. 
The flowers on the coffin were covered with 
them. Overhead the sky grew darker and 
darker. The sparrows gathered with shrill 
twitterings in the bare horse-chestnut trees, 
or hopped anxiously about over the pave- 
ment, leaving tiny, three-pointed marks in 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 109 

the snow, and the cemetery looked deso- 
lately calm in its untrodden whiteness, with 
its great wreath-hung crosses and monu- 
ments cutting against the dim sky. Only 
about the newly-opened grave were flowers, 
purple and white ; and Mrs. Benson and her 
husband stooped down and threw in more, 
until the dark earth was hidden with them. 
When they began to lower the coffin Far- 
rance staggered and fell on his knees. His 
face was terrible, but he made no motion, 
only knelt there staring at the narrow open- 
ing in the winter ground, and the ropes 
straining against its sides. The others 
dropped in the rest of the flowers softly, un- 
til the grave was full. Then Benson’s lit- 
tle son, a boy of twelve, threw in the first 
shovelful of earth. It did not make the hor- 
rible, dull sound that is usual, falling as it did 
upon the armfuls of white hyacinths and li- 
lacs. Jean stood on the other side, looking 
from the grave to Farrance and back again. 


I 10 


ACCORDING TO SAINT. JOHN. 


How could she have thought she loved him ? 
She said this over and over to herself until 
it lost all meaning. At first it had sounded 
blasphemous to her, as though it was shame- 
ful to think of love in the face of that awful 
grief. 

They left the grave a sweet mound of vio- 
lets and lilacs, and followed Benson as he 
half carried Farrance to one of the cabs. 

“ Alone ? ” he said, as he helped him into 
it. Farrance nodded. 

“Anywhere particularly?” said Benson, 
once more. He took the others hand and 
gripped it hard. 

“ Thank you,” said Farrance. His hand 
fell back lifelessly upon his knee. He saw 
suddenly that Benson was waiting for some- 
thing, and roused himself. 

“ Tell him to go anywhere. I should like 
to drive for about two hours. Tell him I 
will give him a bon pourboire .” 

Benson explained to the cabman in a low 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. Ill 

tone, and he drove on a little ahead of the 
others, then turned at the corner of the 
street and they lost sight of him. 

Mrs. Benson and Ellen Ferguson, the pu- 
pil of the sand-papered school, found them- 
selves together on the drive home. 

“ I can’t help thinking of that poor little 
baby,” said the woman, presently. “What 
will become of him ? ” 

“Jean will take care of him. She loves 
him,” answered the girl, who was still crying 
quietly. 

“ Yes, but ” said Mrs. Benson. She 

pulled her feet up under her skirts for great- 
er warmth and sat silent for a moment or 
two, looking out of the window on her side. 
“ Do you know, I shouldn’t wonder at all if 
he married her,” she said, suddenly. 

“ He ? Who ? ” asked Ellen, startled. 

“ Farrance,” replied the other. “I should 
not wonder at all if he married Jean.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried the girl, shocked, “ Mrs. 


112 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


Benson, how can you ? I can see that poor 
man’s face now.” 

“ It’s nothing,” Mrs. Benson said, calmly. 
“ It’s done every day of the world. He’ll 
never love anyone as he did poor Lilian, 
but — he’ll love.” 

“ I don’t believe it ! I don’t believe it ! ” 
said the girl. “ And how could Jean marry him 
even if she loved him, after seeing him — so ? ” 

“ You forget things like that, or when you 
remember them afterward it’s different,” an- 
swered Mrs. Benson. “ A man must love 
or think he’s loving — it’s the same thing to 
them.” 

They had reached the Maison Roget and 
were getting out of the cab. 

“ I think it’s dreadful ! ” exclaimed Miss 
Ferguson. “ I do,” she repeated, as Mrs. 
Benson looked back at her, shaking her 
head thoughtfully. 

She ran upstairs quickly, telling herself 
that Mrs. Benson was a very coarse woman. 





She Practised Her Violin. — p. 113 




CHAPTER X. 


For some months after Mrs. Farrance’s 
death Jean lost her sense of reality of life. 
She came and went, ate her meals, called on 
the people in the house, helped Mrs. Benson 
care for Tony, practised her violin, listened 
to the moralizings of Maman Cici, all with a 
vague feeling that the next day it would 
change, or the next, or if not then, certainly 
the day after. Farrance had gone away for 
awhile ; he had gone alone, and as the 
weeks passed without bringing him Jean 
said to herself, “ He has killed himself,” and 
wondered why she felt so callous about it. 
“ I can’t really have a heart,” she thought. 
“ I care for music and I did care for her ; 
and now she’s dead, and I don’t care for 
anything much — not even Tony ! ” 

She grew pale, stayed in her room a great 
8 


1 14 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

deal, never whistled or sang on her way up 
and down stairs as she used to do. Venus 
was very miserable about her and threatened 
to write home to “ dee folks.” The others 
said she had “ run herself down ” nursing 
Mrs. Farrance. 

About this time Maman Cici, too, became 
very unhappy. Vamousin grew irregular 
in his visits to her, and she was consumed 
with a helpless jealousy. 

One day Jean went into her room and 
found her brooding over an illustrated pa- 
per. As she entered, the other turned to 
one side, slipping the sheet under a pile of 
fashion-plates on the table. 

“ What is the matter, Maman Cici ? ” 
asked the girl. “ You look ill.” 

“ Nothing, nothing at all,” said the other, 
trying to put a cheerful ring into her voice. 
Suddenly she whirled about and drew forth 
the paper, holding it close to Jean’s eyes in 
her fat, shaking hands. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 1 5 

“ There ! there ! ” she cried. “ Look at 
it ! Look at it ! It’s exactly what I should 
do in the same case. Exactly ! I’ve been 
thinking it over calmly, and I know I should 
do exactly the same thing.” 

Jean took the paper from her and saw 
that it was a brutal drawing of an enraged 
woman stabbing a man who seemed to be 
opening a door. 

“ Yes, it’s terrible, I know,” said the 
woman, her face violet under its rough gray 
hair; “but it’s better to be terrible than 
ridiculous. It is, I tell you ! ” as she saw 
the dissent in Jean’s eyes. “ I would stab 
him ; yes, as one sticks a needle through a 
flea. He would not die — il creverait comme 
un chien. Yes, I tell you — yes, yes, yes, 
she did perfectly right, that woman. Her 
husband was false. She had him watched. 
She found out. She went to the place — he 
opened the door for her — oh, yes ; le bon 
Dieu este juste surtout — he opened the door 


II 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

and she made an end of him ; v’la ! she was 
right. I could embrace her, that woman ! 
I could take her in my arms and kiss her ! 
I could kiss the hand she stabbed him with, 
false rat that he was ! ” She stopped, hid- 
eous with jealousy, her great, uncorseted 
bulk heaving with rage, her eyes distended, 
her trembling mouth half open. Jean was a 
brave child. She grew pale, but sat there 
quite calmly, folding the paper over her 
knee, and pressing her full lips together in 
firm disapproval. 

“ It is never right to kill,” she said in a 
quiet voice. “ I shouldn’t like to kill even a 
real rat, me ! ” 

The great creature laughed out at this. 

“You baby! What do you know about 
it?” she said. “You know nothing — noth- 
ing at all. Pas 9a ! ” She drew her thumb- 
nail outward with a sharp sound from 
against one of her front teeth. “ Pas 9a ! ” 
she repeated. “ You are a pretty baby !” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN . II 7 

Suddenly she dropped down again into 
her chair, leaning her head against the pile 
of fashion papers, while hot tears gushed 
from her eyes, already swollen with weeping. 

“ O mon Dieu ! O mon Dieu ! que je 
souffre ! ” she panted. 

Jean came and took up one of the flaccid, 
tremulous hands and patted it. 

“Poor Maman Cici — poor thing — poor 
thing ! ” she said, soothingly. “ I’m sure 
you’re making yourself unhappy without 
cause.” 

The woman sat upright, putting back her 
tumbled hair with one hand, leaving the 
other in Jean’s grasp. Her dressing-gown 
had fallen apart, disclosing one of the elab- 
orate chemises and a petticoat of flowered 
silk. Her great pendulous cheeks were 
drawn and puckered with hysterical anguish, 
her blue eyes had almost disappeared be- 
hind their inflamed lids ; and yet as Jean 
looked up at her she felt no desire to laugh ; 


1 1 8 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

she had rather to restrain herself from shud- 
dering, so real, so terrible was this grotesque 
despair and jealousy. 

“ What can you know ? What can you 
know ? ” the other kept repeating. “ Be- 
cause I am fat and gray - haired, and look 
frightful when I cry, haven’t I a right to love 
and be jealous ? It is because I am older 
than he is that he makes me absurd, that 
he turns away from me. Oh, when I was 
young, you would not think it, but I had the 
prettiest waist — the prettiest little waist — 
smaller than yours — Smaller than anyone’s 
in this pension. I was slim and white — 
white like a pocket-handkerchief. Oh, my 
God, to have known him thirty years ago ! 
And yet how could I ? I shall go mad. He 
was only six years old then — a little thing in 
a shirt, playing in the Bois on Sunday. O 
mon Dieu ! .mon Dieu ! how terrible it is to 
be old — to be fat — to be ugly. I have a 
heart more loving, more passionate than any 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 19 

fillette in the whole world, and yet what 
good does it do to me in this dreadful body ? 
I am like someone in a prison, in a dungeon. 
I am like the story you read me about the 
man’s soul that went into the dogs body. 
Oh, no, no ! Worse than that, worse than 
that ; for then I could follow him, I could 
lick his hand, I could jump at the throat of 

that other ” She stood in the centre 

of the room, transformed, awful, with such 
agony on her face that the girl was silent be- 
fore it, hiding her eyes for a minute and 
whispering God to forgive, to have mercy. 
When she looked up Maman Cici was com- 
ing toward her, trembling, but quieter. 

“ I have frightened you, pauvre petite,” 
she said — she tried to smile. “I frighten 
myself,” she added. Then she went to the 
toilet-table and, taking up a brush, began to 
smooth her divided hair. Her flushed, swol- 
len face confronted her and she drew back, 
growing pale. 


20 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


“ My God ! how ugly I am ! ” she ex- 
claimed, in a heart-broken voice, “ and so 
old — and so old.” She looked around at 
Jean. “ How terrible is truth ! ” she said. 
“ I wish so much to die.” 

“ Yes, it is the best,” said Jean, sorrowfully. 

Maman Cici went back to the glass as 
though drawn there by some hypnotizing 
force. She looked at herself for some 
time; then she spoke to Jean without turn- 
ing around. 

“ I wonder,” she said, “ if God placed 
beauty there on that pincushion, and eter- 
nal blessedness there in that bottle, I won- 
der which I should choose. I mean, of 
course, if one could finish afterward like a 
cat or a dog — not be sent to hell, you under- 
stand ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Jean. 

“ Which would you take, child ? ” 

“ I would take death even without eternal 
blessedness,” said the girl. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


I 2 1 


“ But if you were not pretty, and if you 
loved someone — if you were married to 
someone who didn’t love you, but whom 
you adored — what then ? ” 

“ Death — always,” answered Jean. 

“ But, little goose, with beauty one could 
force a man to love one.” 

“ Not always.” 

“ Hein ? Not always? Yes, always, al- 
ways ! ” 

“ No, I don’t think so. At least, it isn’t 
what I mean by love.” 

“ No ? What then do you mean by love ? 
Come, tell me, cherie.” 

“ I cannot, I don’t know how to tell it.” 

Maman Cici continued to look at her re- 
flection a moment or two longer. 

“ Pouf! ” she said, finally ; “ I don’t know 
the American ideas of love — how should I ? 
I’m French to my finger-nails. But if beauty 
were there on my pincushion, by to-morrow 
night I should make Auguste Vamousin mad 


122 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

with love of me — absolument foil, toque ! 
That is, with French love,” she laughed bit- 
terly, and came back to her chair by the ta- 
ble. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Jean was not astonished, two or three 
days later, on finding Madame Vamousin in 
a state of frenzy even worse than the other. 
There had been a good deal of half-laughing 
gossip in the pension, regarding the young 
coachman and his elderly wife. Benson ex- 
pressed it that Auguste was “ off on a tear.” 
Mrs. Benson laughed and said that Ellen 
Ferguson had seen him walking on one of 
the side paths in the Bois with a very pretty 
girl in a plaid dress. Jean had not laughed 
with the others, and felt troubled when she 
thought of this talk reaching the ears of Ma- 
man Cici. 

“ Poor thing,” she said to herself, “ I dare 
say it’s all true, but what’s the use ? She’s 
miserable enough as it is.” So she took her 


124 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

violin with her this time, thinking that she 
would divert the other with some lively mu- 
sic and the favorite tunes of Vamousin. 

Maman Cici met her at the door, her face 
livid, her bonnet falling from her head, try- 
ing with wild fingers to clasp her large cir- 
cular cloak of beige cloth at her throat. 

“ But, Maman Cici, where are you going ? 
It’s so late. Do stop just for a minute ! 
Here comes Mrs. Benson and she does talk 
so.” 

The woman at these words allowed her- 
self to be pushed back, and leaned against 
the wall, trembling from head to foot. 

“ There — there,” she said, finally, in an- 
swer to Jean’s questions. •“ There on the 
table ; look — look for yourself ! I have had 
him followed, as that woman did. He will 
be with her to-night at that cafe. I even 
know the number of the room. O mon 
Dieu ! mon Dieu ! After all, how droll it is. 
I must laugh— I must, I tell you!” She 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 125 

burst into a peal of her rich chuckling laugh- 
ter, as though really amused, but her face 
was ghastly. Jean read the slip of blue pa- 
per on the table. It was a curt business tel- 
egram. 

“ The woman’s name is Valerie Gule. He 
will dine with her to-night at the Cafe des 
Trois Fees. Cabinet particulier, No. 9. 

“ Rominet.” 

“ I suppose Rominet is a detective ? ” said 
Jean, looking up. 

“ Yes, yes,” answered Maman Cici, stop- 
ping to wipe her eyes and the corners of her 
twitching mouth. “ But I must go — quick- 
ly ! Open the door. She must be gone 
now, that Benson.” 

Jean pretended to listen. 

“No, there’s someone else. Just wait a 
minute, Maman Cici. You must be careful. 
They may follow you.” 


t2 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ So they may, so they may,” assented the 
woman. “ Yes, I must be very careful. If 
he comes to the door I shall do it quick — 
like that.” She jerked something from her 
breast and thrust at the air with it. It was a 
knife. Jean nodded quietly, then paused a 
moment as if thinking. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’d do, Maman Cici, if I 
were in your place,” she said. “ I’d rush by 
him at the door and kill her before his eyes. 
Think of it. What a punishment, hein ? ” 

“ Good ! ” cried Madame Vamousin. “Clev- 
er little cat. Clever little darling. A splen- 
did idea. But come now — you are going 
with me ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, of course. I must protect you, 
if necessary, and say that you were with me 
somewhere else after the murder.” 

She looked steadily into Maman Cici’s 
bloodshot eyes. There was an overturned 
liquor-bottle on the table, and she knew that 
the woman was inflamed with cognac as well 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. \2J 

as jealousy. At the word “ murder ” Ma- 
man Cici’s frenzied look subsided a little. 

“ To kill in a cause like this isn’t murder/’ 
she said, at last, suddenly. “ It’s the Code 
Napoleon.” 

The blood rushed into her face again. 
“Yes, it’s the Code Napoleon!” she shout- 
ed, in a thick voice. “ I will kill, kill, kill 
her ! He was a great man. It was his law. 
I will kill her, I will kill her, and then when 
she is dead I will kill her again — so ! ” She 
stamped and ground her heel into the carpet 
as though crushing some half-alive thing. 
Jean watched her, fascinated, shuddering. 

“ Well,” she said, presently, “ of course 
you know best ; but I should much rather 
choke anyone I hated than stab them.” 

“ Choke them ? ” repeated Madame Va- 
mousin, slowly. “ Choke them ? With one’s 
fingers, hein ? I hadn’t thought of that.” 

She held out the knife suddenly to Jean. 

“ There,” she said, “ you take that in case 


128 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

they attack us, and I’ll manage the little 
snake’s throat.” She curled her huge fin- 
gers as though grasping something invisible 
and looked at them lovingly. Jean took the 
knife and put it in her breast. 

“ Lend me a cloak, Maman Cici,” she 
said ; “ I don’t want to take time to get my 
own, and it’s very cold.” She put on the 
long cloak the other found for her, and tied 
the silk handkerchief from about her throat 
over her head. Then they went out, got in- 
to a cab and drove off toward the “ Trois 
Fees.” Once on her way there Maman Cici 
became dull and silent, and Jean was left to 
her thoughts. Perhaps this was one of the 
two murders this week and she would wit- 
ness it. She bit her lip so that the pain con- 
fused her for an instant. Then she collected 
herself and tided to plan what she would do. 
She would cry to Vamousin and his mistress 
to help her, and they three would overpower 
Maman Cici and tie her hands. But how to 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 29 

be quick enough ! Those enormous women 
are active as cats sometimes. Suppose she 
really choked the girl to death, what then ? 
Awful pictures of Maman Cici’s huge gray 
head falling under the knife of the guillotine 
in the early morning haunted and sickened 
her. She could not think. Her ideas got 
more and more tangled. At least she had 
managed to get the knife away. It was sav- 
agely cold. Her teeth began to chatter. 
She looked at the woman beside her. The 
sudden change from the overheated room to 
the freezing air had made her drowsy ; her 
broad face hung swaying from side to side 
over her breast. 

“ Thank God ! Thank God ! She will 
sleep it off!” she was telling herself, when, 
with a jar and a scraping of the wheels 
against the curbstone, the cab drew up be- 
fore the “Trois Fees.” Maman Cici was 
roused and alert in an instant. She got from 

the cab, paid the man his fare, and he drove 
9 


130 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

off, leaving them standing there in the 
gloomy side street. The cafe was not a gay- 
looking one. There did not seem to be 
much business going on. When they en- 
tered the dining-room there were only two 
men supping meagrely upon cold ham, bread, 
and beer, in a distant corner, and reading 
their papers while they ate. Maman Cici 
pushed open a door to the left and went up 
the first pair of stairs which she came to. 
“ Number 9 ! Number 9 ! ” she kept on say- 
ing to herself, in a sort of monotone. Behind 
one or two of the doors which they passed 
there seemed to be the gayest parties. Jean 
heard the voices of men and women togeth- 
er singing some coarse, comic song. The 
words reached her in broken snatches be- 
tween peals of laughter : 


“ Avec son bonnet de tricot, 

Elle a sa rob’ couleur pruneau, 
Des bas de couleur abricot, 

Et des p’tits souliers Godillot.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 131 

As they went on, looking from side to 
side at the different doors, the refrain 
floated after them, absurd, catching : 

“ II faut la voir le long de la riviere, 

Boitant par devant, boitant par derriere, 

La jambe droit’ qui cloche un tout p’tit peu, 

Semble crier : Au feu ! au feu ! au feu ! 

Pendant que la gauch’ lui repond : 

Ou done ? Ou done ? Ou done ? ” 

Suddenly Jean started forward, tore open 
a door and rushed into the room. Vamou- 
sin and the girl had apparently just sat down 
to dinner. The soup smoked in their 
plates, and a little dish full of ecrevisse 
heads was pushed on one side. Valerie 
Gule gave a scream and Vamousin got to 
his feet cursing. 

“ Be quick ! She is coming — Maman 
Cici ! ” Jean heard her voice trying to urge 
them loudly, but it was as when one tries 
to shriek in a dream — only husky, whisper- 
ing sounds escaped her. The next moment 


132 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Madame Vamousin dashed into the room, 
wound both hands in the girl’s hair and 
began beating her head against the table. 
Jean and Vamousin flung themselves upon 
her, but she was gigantic in her frenzy. 
The sound of the girl’s head against the 
wooden table was horrid. Suddenly the 
blood spurted from a cut in one of her tem- 
ples made by a bit of broken glass. It 
gushed over Maman Cici’s hands — red, 
warm. She dropped the girl suddenly and 
stepped back until she was close against the 
wall, staring, staring at her outspread hands. 
Jean ran to the door and locked it. 

“ You must answer the gar<pon when he 
comes,” she said to Vamousin. She knelt 
down and took the girl’s head on her knees, 
sopping a napkin in one of the finger-bowls 
and bathing her face and forehead. Va- 
mousin held the bowl, quivering all over like 
an Italian greyhound. 

“ Is she dead ? ” he whispered. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


133 


“ No, I don’t think so,” said Jean. 

“ Ma pauvre cherie. Ma pauvre, pauvre 
mignonne,” murmured the man, his teeth 
chattering. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“ II ne faut pas entrer, vous savez,” called 
Vamousin in such a gay voice that Jean 
started. 

They heard the rattle of the dishes as the 
waiter set them on the floor outside. 

“ That poor fool there — my wife ; I don’t 
want her — you know,” he said, answering 
her eyes and drawing his fingers across his 
throat with an expressive gesture. Jean 
went on bathing the girl’s head in silence. 
Suddenly they were startled by a voice near 
them. 

“ How pretty she is ! How pretty ! ” said 
Madame Vamousin. “ And so young.” 
She waited a moment and then pointed at 
the gash on the girl’s forehead. “ Did — I 
— do — that ? ” she asked in a slow whisper. 


134 


. ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


“ Oui — c’etait bien toi,” growled her hus- 
band. 

“ I’m sorry/’ she said, dully ; “ what’s the 

•) )) 
use r 

“Go away!” said Vamousin, brutally. 
“ Go away. You’re drunk. Go away and 
go to sleep.” 

She went meekly and sat down at the 
table, watching them. 

After awhile she lifted a spoonful of the 
soup mechanically to her lips, but dropped 
the spoon with a clatter. 

“ Eh, mon Dieu ! my poor Auguste, what 
cooking ! ” 

Then she began to stare at the girl again. 

“ Her hands are littler than yours, 
Jeanne.” 

Jean said nothing ; the girl had given a 
little sigh. She felt as though she must 
scream aloud with exultation. 

“And she has lighter hair than yours,” 
said Madame Vamousin. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 35 

“ She’s alive ! She’s alive ! ” Vamousin 
was stammering in a loud whisper. They 
lifted her a little and she gave a gasp, open- 
ing her eyes. 

“ Ca va mieux, mon adoree ? ” pleaded 
Vamousin. 

“ She is lovely — she is lovely — she is 
lovely ! ” said the woman at the table. “ My 
waist was never so small — never.” 

“Veux-tu te taire ? ” said Vamousin, 
roughly. 

Maman Cici again tasted the soup absent- 
ly, then the wine. 

“ Quel potage ! Quel vin ! ” she said 
again, shaking her head. 

The girl had come to herself. She stared 
about her wildly. “ Auguste ! ” she cried. 

Jean got to her feet. 

“ I’m going now,” she said. “ You must 
think of some explanation.” She went to 
Maman Cici and put her arm about her 
drooped head. 


136 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Shall we go, dear ? ” she asked, softly. 1 

“Yes! Go, go!” assented the other. 
She got to her feet, staring about her until 
her eye rested once upon the girl, who was 
now lying with her head on Vamousin’s 
knee. She began to tremble and cry pit- 
eously. “Yes, let us go, dear child,” she 
said. Then turning at the door : “ How 
pretty ! Hein ! How pretty, Jeanne ! Pret- 
tier than you, my dear.” It was none the 
less pitiful because the poor old creature was 
half maudlin with drink. 

“ Pretty, pretty,” she kept murmuring to 
herself. “ Pretty as the picture on a hand- 
kerchief box. Eh, mon Dieu, yes — and even 
prettier.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


Somehow it seemed to Jean a perfectly 
natural thing that they should meet Farrance 
as they were going out of the cafe. He 
looked stronger than when she last saw him, 
and his face less haggard. When he saw 
Jean, with the heavy figure of Maman Cici 
dragging on her slender shoulder, he came 
forward rapidly a step or two with a gesture 
of entire amazement. 

“ I will tell you about it afterward/' said 
the girl. “ Help me now. Get a cab ; I 
will wait here. Don’t be long. She is suf- 
fering very much. I’ll tell you all about it 
afterward. Only be quick.” 

Farrance came back with two cabs. 

“ Is she really ill ? ” he asked. “ And why 
is she here ? Why are you here ? ” 


138 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ I will tell you, I will tell you,” said Jean, 
“ everything. Only let us go now.” 

All this time she was holding Maman Ci- 
ci’s cloak together, fearing that one of those 
blood-marked hands might be seen by Far- 
rance or one of the garcons. Maman Cici 
seemed dazed and stupid. She got docilely 
into the cab, the door of which Farrance 
opened for her. Jean was about to follow, 
but he held her firmly with the other hand. 

“ She is not ill, she is drunk,” he said, in 
a low voice. “ I will tell the driver to follow. 
You must come with me in another cab.” 

“ She may hurt herself. She may fall 
down,” said Jean, rather timidly. He pulled 
up the glass and shut the door of the cab on 
Maman Cici, who sat quiet, her bonnet fall- 
ing back from her rough hair, her long cloak 
making of her figure a large, shapeless bun- 
dle. 

“ If people in that condition do fall down 
they are not very apt to hurt themselves,” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 39 

he said to Jean in a kind voice, as they 
turned away together. He took one of the 
drivers blankets, wrapped it about her knees, 
then got in beside her, telling the man to 
drive to the Maison Roget. 

As they jarred along over the rough pave- 
ments Jean wondered more and more at her 
own calmness. She felt exhausted and a lit- 
tle dizzy after that scene in the cafe, but that 
was all. She was pleased to feel Farrance 
sitting there, but it was a sober sort of pleas- 
ure, as different from gladness as gray is 
from scarlet. She felt she could tell him all 
that had happened, and that he would do the 
best for everyone, and not speak of it in that 
gossiping pension, where they would prob- 
ably make a ghastly joke of the whole affair. 

She fixed her eyes suddenly upon his face, 
which was outlined against the murky atmos- 
phere without, and he seemed to feel that 
she was looking at him, for he turned at 
once, saying : 


140 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“ What is it ? Do you want to tell me 
about it now ? ” 

“Yes, you are so good,” said Jean. “I 
do thank you.” 

She lifted suddenly the hand with which 
he was pulling the blanket closer about her, 
and kissed it. 

“ I do thank you,” she said, again. 

“ Poor child ! ” said Farrance, “ I’m afraid 
that woman has been getting herself into 
some terrible scrape. How did she come 
to drag you along with her — and without 
gloves ? ” he added, awaking suddenly to a 
sense of the icy coldness of the little fingers 
he had taken in his. 

“ No, she didn’t drag me,” said Jean. “ I 
went — I had to.” And then she told him 
about it. 

Farrance did not speak for several min- 
utes. Then he lifted her hand and kissed it 
in his turn. 

“ My dear,” he said, “ I think you are 


c 





Wzm 


'•it. y/.4'./ 


mmm 


MM' 




4"'' 


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■ 



She 


Fixed Her Eyes upon His Face. 


— p. 140* 












ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 141 

about as brave as anyone I have ever heard 
of:” 

“No, not at all. I was very frightened,” 
said Jean. 

“ Then what you did was all the braver.” 

Jean was silent. She wondered why such 
a speech from him had no effect upon her 
whatever. The idea that perhaps her heart 
was getting dry and cold frightened her and 
made her unhappy. Then all at once she 
thought of his dead wife and the tears came 
rushing to her eyes. She leaned her head 
back against the dusty cushions, where the 
light from the occasional street-lamps would 
not fall upon her face. She was tired and, 
strange to say, very sleepy. 

She was roused by feeling someone's arms 
drawn from under her, and looking through 
a sort of golden shimmer which hung like 
a veil of thin shot silk between her and 
the bending faces above, and she saw that 
she was on her bed in her own room, Far- 


142 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

ranee, Benson, and Venus standing around 
it. 

“ Did I — did I ” she said, speaking 

thickly and feeling herself blush. 

“ Yes, you did,” answered Benson ; “you 
did, most emphatically. I tell you what, it 
isn’t fair, is it, Farrance, to look like a sylph 
and feel like an obelisk? I don’t believe 
Cleopatra’s needle was anything to you. It 
took both of us together at least twenty 
minutes to get you upstairs. I say, hadn’t 
we better make some tea or something ? 
How do you feel now ? Would you like 
some tea — or what ? ” 

Jean’s blush had died out and she was still 
very faint and pale. Her tongue seemed to 
get between her teeth when she tried to 
speak. She looked at Farrance. 

“ Is Maman Cici safe ? ” she asked him. 

He told her not to worry herself, that 
Maman Cici was cared for. “ The concierge’s 
wife is with her,” he added. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 43 

“ Oh, the poor old thing,” murmured Jean. 
Farrance patted her hand kindly. 

“ I hope Benson and I haven’t hurt you, 
dragging you up that crooked stairway,” he 
went on. “ Will you have some wine ? ” 

“ Don’t ask her. She must have it,” cried 
Benson, plunging at the door, which he flung 
open with such force that it struck heavily 
against the bed. “ I’ll bring it in a second,” 
his voice was heard calling from the hall be- 
low. 

Farrance sat down on the arm of Jean’s 
big chintz chair, with one hand in his pocket 
and the other pulling at his short beard. 
The little figure on the bed struck him as 
very piteous and lovely. What a slip of a 
girl, what a plucky baby to be leading such 
a life quite alone ! “ How pretty she is,” he 

told himself; “ how much too pretty. And 
what grit, what energy ! It’s that strong 
little chin of hers. The eyes are soft enough, 
and the contour of the face, but she’s got a 


144 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

' devil of a little chin.” He remembered how 
his wife had loved her. It was frightful that 
she should be entirely by herself in an apart- 
ment house in Paris, with a black girl of 
nineteen for a chaperon and Madame Va- 
mousin for an intimate friend. What would 
happen to her during the next three years ? 
He looked at the wide, pearly forehead under 
the ends of bright hair. The words “ purity, 
maidenhood,” seemed almost visibly written 
upon it. The serene, straight eyebrows 
seemed, in his fantastic thought like under- 
scorings of the imagined words. How fond 
Lilian had been of her — the kind, brave, pure 
little thing ! He felt that he could not let 
her go on with this life which she had planned 
for herself. It must be prevented somehow. 
He himself would prevent it, and he kept ask- 
ing in his heart : “ How ? how ? By what 

means, by what help, in what way ? ” 

Venus had been filling a bottle with hot 
water all this time, and put it to her mis- 



Venus had been Filling a Bottle with Hot Water. — p. 144. 




ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


145 


tress’s feet as Benson came back with the 
wine. 

He held it to Jean’s lips in a glass which 
streamed over into the hollow of his other 
hand, talking to her between gasps while she 
drank it. 

“ So sorry— couldn’t find keys — Mrs. B.’s 
gone — theatre — witb — all — th’ other women 
— grand treat — stage box — hen party — men 
snubbed.” 

“ Thank you,” said Jean ; “ thank you both 
so, so much. I’ll go to bed now, I think.” 

“You’re sure you’re not going to faint 
now?” asked Benson, anxiously, shaking his 
dripping hand, while Farrance got up from 
the arm of the chair. 

“ Oh, sure, sure ! ” she exclaimed, redden- 
ing again. 

“ Good-night, little one,” said Farrance, 
turning back for an instant. “ Good-night, 
Jean — the bravest Jean in Christendom. 
Sleep well, and don’t bother about Maman 


146 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Cici. I’ll arrange all that. Be sure you 
sleep well — and sweet dreams ! ” 

“ Good-night,’' said Jean. 

When he was gone, she could see him 
standing there as plainly as ever. She felt 
his kiss on her hand. She flung over so im- 
patiently in the bed that Venus thought her 
vexed about something. 

“ Why did he come back ? ” she kept ask- 
ing. Ct He will take Tony away — and — and 
— I do love Tony ! ” 








CHAPTER XIII. 


Farrance parted from Benson at the door 
of Jean’s room and went upstairs to his 
apartment, which he had not visited for eight 
months, and which he had not allowed to be 
sublet, as Mrs. Benson had advised. Once 
a week Jean, with whom he had left the key, 
went up to open the windows and see that 
the sketches and drawings were in good con- 
dition. Except for this, however, everything 
was exactly as it had been on the day of 
Mrs. Farrance’s death. Her dressing-gown 
hung over the foot of the narrow bed, with 
the pretty bedroom slippers underneath. 
There was a box of rice-powder on the 
toilet-table with the swansdown puff, still 
dusted with powder, lying beside it. Her 
bottles of different drugs and tonics stood 


148 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

on the chimney-piece. A lace handkerchief 
which she had been pinning into a morning-* 
fcap lay on a little table beside her easy-chair, 
with the half-tied bow of pale-blue velvet 
ribbon beside it. The smell of vervain still 
clung to everything. 

He had lighted a candle and sat down in 
a smaller chair opposite the other, seeing 
before him the frail figure which quivered 
every now and then beneath a short, husky 
cough ; the broad, downcast lids, the arch 
irregularity of the lips following with sympa- 
thetic movements each turn of the deft, half- 
transparent fingers. He saw her, heard 
her ; the strong scent of the vervain made 
her presence seem still more vivid. He felt 
no inclination to tears. He felt as a poor 
wretch must feel when mangled half to death 
in a railway accident — a desire that some 
blow would come which might be final. Art 
looked shrunken and insignificant viewed 
from his height of grief. He was not a man 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 49 

who gave or received love easily ; he had 
not the paternal instinct strongly, and the 
child was not enough like her to endear it- 
self to him through second causes. He had 
no especial belief, or, rather, he regarded the 
possible God as a great machine, dealing out 
joy and misery impartially in the order which 
they happened to assume. He did not feel* 
rebellious. Why should he be spared when 
others suffered ? He believed no more in 
happiness than he did in God. Even in his 
wild love for his wife he had not been happy ; 
there had been some lack, some jarring in 
their relations with each other. He thought 
of how she had implored him to go back to 
the old life of the stage, of how she had 
yearned for it. The memory of her voice 
and eyes struck to his heart. It was true 
that with her delicate health she could never 

have borne the life, but still — but still 

He got up and walked away from that 
haunting presence into his studio. The in- 


150 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

sistent sadness of life seemed stifling, un- 
utterable. 

“ We can never get away from it,” he 
thought. “ It is like a blood-stain on one 
of the wheels of the car of life. We are 
carried on and on, and always, at intervals, 
as the wheel turns, we see that sorrowful 
mark. I wish it were over with me and 
that I were as she is now. After all, what 
is love ? Does it come from us or are we 
the bits of steel and it the magnet ? Is it 
true, as I think, that I shall never love 
again ? Is it true — as most of us think — 
that I would be worthier for not loving 
again ? If I loved someone else, would I 
grow indifferent to Lilian ? Suppose, if I 
were married to that other, that she — Lilian 
— could come to life and stand before me, 
which would I choose ? Which would any 
man choose ? Why is it that marriage is 
never happy, and yet that we go on marry- 
ing, and will to the end of time ? It is prob- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 5 1 

ably as the Roman said : ‘ Nature has so ar- 
ranged it that we cannot either live comfort- 
ably with wives, or live at all without them/ 
And yet, merciless God ! how blank, dull, 
objectless, frayed-out it all seems without 
her ! ” 

He turned sharply from the window by 
which he had been standing, and his elbow 
struck against a little writing - desk which 
had belonged to Lilian and in which she 
kept letters, notes, trinkets of all sorts. 
Sitting down before it, he began absent- 
mindedly to open the different drawers and 
turn over their contents. There were news- 
paper cuttings, odds and ends of ribbon, 
pressed flowers, a knitted shoe stretched on 
a little wooden tree, some perfumed pas- 
tilles, photographs, absurdly grimacing tin- 
types, a box of rouge. In one division he 
found a heavy packet of notes and letters 
tied together. It was labelled : “ Letters 
from Adrian before we were married/’ He 


152 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

unfastened the bit of ribbon which bound 
them and began to read. How long ago 
and unreal it all seemed! Yet, after all, 
was not the present the true ghost ? Had 
there not been more zest, more life, more 
actuality in those far-off days and nights ? 
Sentences in his own yellowed handwriting 
brought up the past, its fevers, longings, 
strivings, as with a spell. It was as if one 
dead could look down upon the quiet body 
and brood over what it had been. There 
seems nothing stranger in life than to read 
again the words which we have written and 
forgotten, except, perhaps, to look, after 
many years, upon the face of the one whom 
we first loved. He remembered the very 
costumes that they had worn in “ Romeo 
and Juliet,” the way that her hair had loos- 
ened in the balcony scene under its coif of 
false pearls. How, in the next act, he had 
interpolated whispered words of his own 
between the lines of honeyed blank verse, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 53 

words of prose, the shortest, the eagerest, 
the most impassioned. He recalled them 
now. She had hung on his shoulder to say 
the lines beginning : “ It is the nightingale 
and not the lark ; ” and he had confused her 
so that she could scarcely continue. Her 
voice had faltered, he had seen her redden 
and grow pale under the steady rouge. “ I 
love you, I love you madly ; do you hear ? 
madly — madly ! You must marry me to-* 
morrow ! ” He could hear himself uttering 
that eager whisper as distinctly as he could 
read, on the musty sheets before him, his 
own words of seven years past. He could 
not realize that he had ever trembled with 
the emotions which they represented. “ My 
God,” he had written in one hurried note, 
“ how desperately I love you ! It is a fren- 
zy of feeling, it seems to eat to the very 
marrow of my heart ! Last night, as you 
turned from me in the scene at Melnotte s 
cottage, a knot of ribbon fell from your 


154 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

dress. I kept it under my pillow all night. 
It seemed to me that, when I touched it, 
in some strange way I drew you to me. It 
has a faint odor of yourself which intoxicates 
me. When will you marry me ? When will 
you leave this horrible sham of life and give 
yourself to me utterly ? I am jealous of the 
eyes that tarnish you with their looks of 
coarse admiration. I can scarcely wait until 
to-morrow, when we shall walk to that quiet, 
calm, lovely place outside this wretched 
little town, and I can tell you with my lips 
what I so vainly try to write ! ” 

He pushed the letter from him and hid his 
face in his hands, shaken to the heart. They 
had taken that walk next day, and for the first 
time she had given him her lips to kiss. It 
seemed to him when he roused himself half 
an hour later, that she had been in his arms. 

By the time he had looked over the whole 
package it was midnight, and the bit of paper 
around the end of the candle was in a blaze. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 55 

He lighted another, determining to look over 
the entire contents of the desk. There might 
be some papers to be burned, some mes- 
sages which she had left for others — for him, 
perhaps. This thought had barely gone 
through his mind when he came upon a 
sealed envelope addressed to himself. His 
heart began to beat heavily and the square 
of paper trembled in his hand. He gave a 
sort of groan. The hand that wrote it, the 
thin, graceful hand, he fancied it moving 
rapidly over the small sheets, glancing with 
the rings which he now wore ; he saw it 
again, bare, terrible, resting among the folds 
of lace and muslin in that grim box, deep 
under the frozen ground. “ What a fiend it 
must have been to invent dissolution,” he 
thought savagely. “And they tell us that it 
was a God, and that He is good ! ” He 
kissed the letter quietly and opened it with 
the blade of his knife, not wishing to tear the 
paper which she had touched. 


156 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

It was not a long letter, but he passed an 
hour in reading it : 

“Adrian, my Dear, Dear: First of all 
let me tell you how I love you, how I thank 
you for your love. You have been so good 
to me, so good, good, good ! God will bless 
you for it. He will show you how to love 
Him. He will make you believe in Him. I 
pray for it as I have never prayed.^ Every 
night and every morning I say : ‘ Dear 

Father, bless my husband who is so noble, 
who is so kind, who wishes with all his heart 
to believe in Thee, and give him his 
heart’s desire/ When you read this, dear, I 
shall be gone, but not far, not too far to love 
you and wish to comfort you as you read. 
Dear, I have something to say to you, some- 
thing so hard, so very hard to say in the 
right way, in the way that will not hurt you. 
Do you misunderstand, try not to be wound- 
ed, try to take it as I mean it, I, who love 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 57 

you so dearly, so truly, so devotedly, so faith- 
fully. I will not put it off longer, but just 
tell you simply and candidly, as I know you 
would wish me to speak. It is this : I have 
been thinking and thinking how it will be 
with you when I am gone. How you will 
live, where, with what people. Of your 
great loneliness, of our poor little child. I 
do not do you the injustice to think that you 
will ever love as you loved me — not in that 
way.; but oh ! my dear, don’t be angry with 
me when I tell you that I hope you will love 
again, yes, love and marry. I cannot bear 
to think of our boy growing up without one 
woman to love and care for him before all. 
It would not be what you might wish, it could 
not be what the past was to you — oh, believe 
that I know that, Adrian ; but it could help 
you to live your live and work peacefully at 
the art you love so. And, Adrian, forgive 
me ; perhaps it cannot be, you may have a 
feeling about it of which I do not know ; but 


158 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

if it could be, oh ! if it only could be little 
Jean! I don’t think anyone dreams of the 
strength and beauty and loftiness of that 
child’s character. She would love you so, 
she would be so good to my baby, she would 
help you in your work, in your troubles, in 
every way ; and then think, dearest, of what 
it would be for her ! I shudder sometimes 
when I think of the life that child is leading ; 
of what she is surrounded by on every side ; 
of the people she knows : that good-natured 
but coarse ‘ Maman Cici ; ’ good-hearted but 
vulgar, sharp, little Mrs. Benson ; kind but 
stupid Ellen Ferguson ; and only poor black 
Venus to stand between her and this Paris, 
full of people who are coarse and wicked 
without being either good-natured or good- 
hearted. I love her so tenderly that some- 
times I almost wish that something would 
happen to make her less pretty. If you 
could only save her from it all and make a 
quiet, contented home for yourself at the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 59 

same time ! Still, as I said, dear, I don’t 
know, of course ; only I beg, I implore you 
— I, whom you have made so happy for these 
past seven years — do not misunderstand me, 
do not imagine that I could dream even for 
one moment of your ever, ever loving any- 
one as you loved and love 

“ Your Lilian.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


One week later Farrance knocked at 
Jean’s door. 

“ Will you come up to my studio for a few 
moments ? ” he asked, as she opened it. “ I 
should like to get your advice about some- 
thing.” 

She came at once, looking a little puzzled, 
flushing slightly. 

As they entered the room she saw a mass 
of freshly burned paper choking the fireplace 
and still smouldering on the hearth. The 
sketches had all been taken down and rolled 
or strapped together ; the imitation tapestry 
curtain had gone. On the different chairs 
had been placed dresses cloaks, hats which 
she recognized. 

“ It’s about that I want to ask you,” said 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. l6l 

Farrance. “ I’ve burned everything 1 else — my 
letters to her, hers to me, everything, even 
the scrap of paper that she had pinned on a 
silk handkerchief she gave me my last birth- 
day — even her telegrams. I had kept them, 
too. I’m glad to say it’s all over, but her 
clothes — somehow, I cannot — I don’t know 
what to do with them.” 

Jean sat down in one of the chairs and be- 
gan to smooth the fur trimming of the jacket 
which hung over its back. 

“ I — I don’t see how you could,” she said, 
at last. 

“ No, probably not,” replied Farrance, 
with some grimness, “ I hope you never 
may.” 

Jean was silent again for a few minutes. 

“ Don’t you believe — but you do believe 
there’s a God?” she asked, finally. “You 
believe you’ll see her again ? ” 

“ Where there’s no marrying or giving in 
marriage ? ” asked Farrance, with a laugh. 


1 62 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ But it will be better than that — you will 
love her more.” 

“ If I’m to love her in such a different way, 
she herself might as well be someone else ; 
don’t you think so ? ” 

“ No, I believe that we shall see her again, 
and that she will be the same.” 

“Indeed? And how about Tony? He 
will probably be a strapping, great fellow 
with a black beard ? Don’t you think she’ll 
be rather puzzled after waiting to see her 
baby again, to have to welcome him under 
those conditions ? And me ? When I greet 
her with flowing white hair and the cross of 
the Legion of Honor on my breast?” He 
laughed again, very harshly. 

Jean replied with stoutness : “ It has al- 
ways seemed to me so foolish to try to ex- 
plain everything. Why, there are lots of 
things just as puzzling on earth ! I will re- 
member Tony as a baby, always, even when 
he is a man — but that won’t keep me from 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 63 

loving- him and being happy. We all of us 
have those ghosts. I can see myself now — 
a fat little thing in a coral necklace and soapy 
curls. That little child is dead, dead, dead, 
but I am still I. You will still be you — with 
or without your white hair. Look at hypno- 
tism. Why could not God hypnotize us to 
see each other as we would wish? Your 
wife will see you a man, your mother a child, 
your child a gray-headed artist. If people 
can get happiness for a time out of a little 
bottle of brown stuff like opium, why could 
not what our Lord called the * living waters ’ 
change everything and make us happy, con- 
tented, zestful ? Oh, I don’t see why people 
worry themselves about things. If grapes 
have the instinct to draw sweetness out of 
the earth, and roses color, why can’t we 
leave it to that great Power, and believe that 
he will draw what is best for us out of what- 
ever world we happen to live in ? ” 

She stopped, her breast beating quickly 


1 64 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

against her little gown of gray cashmere, her 
eyes bright and compelling. 

44 There isn’t enough love in the world,” 
she exclaimed. 44 That is the matter. 4 Out 
of the heart are the issues of life,’ and if we 
haven’t got hearts — what then ? ” 

Farrance looked at her curiously, roused 
out of himself. 

44 It is my heart that makes me so desper- 
ate,” he said, in a different tone. 

Jean laughed in her turn, a laugh so hon- 
est and bitter that he gazed at her with 
growing wonder. 

44 Your heart,” she repeated. 44 Men don’t 
love with their hearts. Do you think a wom- 
an, a child even, would have put those dear 
words in the fire as you have done ? She 
could not — she could not. Perhaps she might 
have thrown them overboard in a weighed 
box into the middle of the sea or have buried 
them. But she could not have burned them. 
All ? And you have burned all — all ? ” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 65 

On her knees she began to turn about the 
scraps of paper on the hearth. A word or 
two showed here and there : “ Love,” “ Adri- 
an, dearest,” “ only to be with you again,” 
“ I am forever, for always.” 

“How could you?” she said again, pas- 
sionately. “ How different men and wom- 
en are, how differently they live, love, every- 
thing.” 

“ And do you really think, Jean,” said Far- 
rance, “ that a woman never burned her love 
letters ? ” 

“ I would not,” she answered. “ No, not 
even if I had stopped caring for the man who 
wrote them. It seems too terrible, all those 
words that meant so much, that came from 
the core of someone's heart.” 

Farrance began to smile. 

“ So you admit that you might stop caring, 
although you couldn’t burn the letters.” 

“No,” she answered, slowly. “I was 
wrong. I don’t believe anyone ever stops 


1 66 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


caring. They stop suffering so much, they 
stop caring in the same way, but the old feeling 
never quite goes. I am sure of that. I mean, 
of course, when it has been a real love.” 

“ Even if it hasn’t come from the heart ? ” 

“Yes, even then. But you don’t under- 
stand me.” 

Farrance put his hand suddenly on her 
head with a gesture of great feeling. 

“You are a dear, dear child,” he said. 
“You help me. She said that you would 
help me.” 

They sat without speaking for some mo- 
ments. 

“ And about the gowns, Jean,” asked Far- 
rance, finally. 

“ I’ve been thinking,” she answered. “ It 
seems very, very sad, but I should give them 
to the poor, all but the Parthenia dress — if — 
if you would let me keep that ? ” 

“ You can have anything of hers you want, 
my dear. Everything, if you care to.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 67 

Jean shook her head. 

“ That is all I want. I know so many 
people who need them. She would wish it, 
I know.” She walked back and forth, 
straightening and folding the different gar- 
ments, while Farrance sat with his elbow on 
the little desk watching her. She stopped 
near him once. 

“ I wish I could help you,” she said, in a 
low voice. “ I know you have dreadful 
thoughts. I wish you could think of her 
cheerfully and happily as I do. You know 
I never let myself imagine anything terrible. 
What I love to think is that God had a beau- 
tiful new body waiting for her, and that her 
soul wears it now. I imagine her smiling, 
well, lovely, in such a pure white dress. 
She seems so young to me when I think of 
her. The body she left is no more herself to 
me than this dress in my hand. It was the 
dress she wore on earth. She has another 
in heaven, one that is strong, that never suf* 


1 68 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

fers. Oh, I do love to think of her so ! I 
loved her so ! No one was ever so good to 
me in all my life.” 

She bent her face into the folds of stuff 
which she held and kissed them again and 
again. 

“ Are you lonely, Jean? ” asked Farrance, 
presently. 

She looked swiftly up at him as she knelt 
over a parcel of clothes upon the floor. His 
eyes were grave, serious, very kind. Her 
own smarted suddenly. 

“Yes — but people don’t often think so,” 
she answered. 

“ That is because you are so plucky.” 

“Perhaps; but I think it’s more Venus 
than anything. I should die without Venus.” 

“And how long do you mean to lead this 
life ? ” 

“ Oh, for three or four years more. I 
must — I’ll have to support myself when I get 
back to America.” 



She Looked Swiftly up at Him as she Knelt. — p. 168. 












* 

























































ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. ,169 

“ And what will become of poor Tony ? ” 

“ But Mrs. Benson has kept him for you 
all this time. She loves him.” 

“ He loves you best of all.” 

“ Yes, I know ; but babies outgrow love.” 

Farrance walked slowly up and down the 
room. Suddenly he stopped before her. 

“ Are you less lonely when you are with 
me, Jean ? ” 

The girl turned very white, then flushed, 
and her hands began to tremble. She 
tugged impatiently at the string which she 
was trying to knot, and broke it. 

“ Yes, yes ; of course,” she said, answer- 
ing him. 

“ That’s good ! ” he exclaimed, with a 
change of voice and manner. “ We must 
be great friends. I am going away from 
here ; from this house, I mean. I’ll have a 
room and atelier on the Rue Vaugirard. 
You’ll let Mrs. Benson bring you there 
sometimes, hein ? ” 


170' ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“ Oh, yes ! You are very good.” 

“ I think we shall be very fond of each 
other,” remarked Farrance, combing thought- 
fully at his beard with his strong, dark 
fingers. 


CHAPTER XV. 


During the next month Jean and Farrance 
saw a good deal of each other, but had no 
more personal talks. He managed, with 
Mrs. Benson’s aid, to keep her from being 
so much with Maman Cici. The poor wom- 
an was in a desperate state about her hus- 
band’s faithlessness, and they said she had 
taken to absinthe drinking. Jean was her 
one comforter. She raved and wept to the 
girl hour after hour, warning her against the 
baseness of men, their perfidy, fickleness, 
lowness of aim and nature. 

“ Oh, yes, yes ! I know,” she would cry. 
“ They all think I am drunk — that I am in a 
delirium. It is only you, Jean — it is only 
you who know how I suffer, who believe 


172 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

in my torments. May God reward you, 
blessed child ! May he save you from men. 
May he let you take me as a terrible warn- 
ing. Oh, bless you ! bless you ! my good 
little one, for your kindness to me ! ” Jean 
did not think that Maman Cici drank now, 
but she felt sure that she took something — 
an opiate, perhaps. She told Farrance' so 
one day. 

“ I have just been with her,” she said. 
“ It is awful. She says that she is in hell, 
that black mud closes over her, and that no 
one but me can help her. Last night she 
was even worse.” 

“ Were you with her last night ? ” asked 
Farrance. 

“ No — well, yes — but only a part of it.” 

“You are very pale. These things are 
dreadful for you. Look ! I have an idea. 
It is lovely weather ; suppose we get the 
Bensons and Miss Ferguson and go to 
Fontainebleau for • the day? Would you 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 73 

like that ? I can take my traps along and 
you can pose for me en pleine air.” 

In another hour the five were on their way 
to the Gare de Lyon, Benson, his wife, and 
Ellen Ferguson in one cab, Jean and Far- 
rance in the other. It was the third week 
in April, the sky as blue as a child’s eyes, 
the leaves of the horse-chestnuts making a 
green mist down either side of the Champs 
Elysees ; over all a gauze of golden light, 
through all a warm scent of violets, freshly 
watered turf, asphalt, varnish, stuffs, the 
hides of horses, which twinkled in the gush 
of sunshine. The children swarmed like 
humming - birds under the cup of an en- 
ormous azure flower — standing on chairs 
to look at the gay Guignol puppets, rac- 
ing after wooden hoops, whipping with red 
and yellow whips their many-colored tops. 
The spring bonnets bloomed in profusion. 
It was the season of yellow daffodils, mi- 
mosa, buttercups, primroses. One saw 


174 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

them by the hundred. The great flat hats 
looked like enormous battledores on which 
lay the shuttlecock in shape of a knot of 
flowers. Back and forth among the vivid 
throng a man, sallow, ragged, wheeled him- 
self in a kind of wooden trough. The foun- 
tains on the Rond-Point looked like aigrettes 
of jewels. Far away one saw the Arc de 
Triomphe, gray, delicate, like the gate of 
fairyland. Now they reached the Place de 
la Concorde. The white horses of the stat- 
ues reared upward from the vapor of leaves. 
At the feet of Alsace-Lorraine lay mourning 
wreaths of immortelles and purple bead- 
work ; garlands tied with crape ; knots of 
living flowers, some faded since yesterday, 
some fresh from to-day. They lay there in 
the glinting sunshine among the powdery 
fragments of many other such offerings, 
while the sparrows pecked at them with 
their sharp, querulous beaks. The silver 
web of the fountains swayed and smoked in 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 175 

the light wind. In the centre rose the great 
needle, pointing steadily upward as though 
saying : “ Though it has all passed and you 
laugh and make merry, He has not forgotten 
what happened where I stand.” It seemed 
to Jean that all at once a veil of crimson 
dropped between her eyes and the enchant- 
ing sight. These were the very streets that 
had run blood ; this was the very spot, the 
very Paris, whose gray buildings had seen it 
all. Up that narrow street past the Louvre, 
past the gildecb iron railing of the Tuileries, 
past her own home, she had come in that 
ghastly, jolting cart ; she had said to hen 
self : “ This throat that I can now turn from 
side to side, this very throat on which so 
many kisses have been pressed, which has 
been filled with laughter, which has ached 
with weeping — in a little while, oh, how horri- 
ble ! They will write tragedies about me ! I 
shall be the heroine of romances ! ” She must 
have thought of her poor mother — of herself 


176 A CCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

when she was a child. Little broken words 
of her babyhood, treasured by her mother, 
must have come back to her. She must 
have told herself over and over again that it 
was a dream. She must have wondered 
how she would look afterward. 

“ How pale you are, child ! And what 
dilated eyes ! ” said Farrance, suddenly. 
“Your day in the country hasn’t come too 
soon.” 

“ How I shall love it ! ” she exclaimed, 
pressing her hands hard together as they lay 
in her lap. He sat watching the clear oval 
of her cheek, which the blood had again 
clouded with an airy carmine. Her hair glit- 
tered in the sheer light under her hat of rough 
straw with its wreath of blackberry fruit and 
blossoms. Her white cotton gown was sprink- 
led with little leaves of a pale green. She 
looked as one might imagine a dryad of the 
Bois de Boulogne, who, one feels sure, would 
bind her chaplet of wild flowers about a 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. IJJ 

Paris bonnet and drape her foliage garment 
according to the last mode. 

Suddenly they drove from the smooth 
wood onto the pave. The streets became 
narrower, dingier, more crowded ; the Seine 
gave forth a white-gray lustre between the 
plumy branches of the budding white pop- 
lars. For a long way the parapet was cov- 
ered with drawers full of books from the 
curiosity shops opposite. People stood by 
them here and there reading. Sometimes it 
was a girl with a basket of bread or of fresh 
lettuce on her arm, her dress guarded by a 
long white apron, her arms thrust into full, 
white oversleeves, reaching above her elbows ; 
sometimes a smartly dressed man, with his 
stick under his arm, his pearl-gray gloves 
smudging themselves on the covers of the 
old volume in his hands, his forgotten cigar 
going slowly out in one corner of his mouth ; 
sometimes a gamin on tiptoe, searching for 
possible illustrations among the musty leaves. 


12 


178 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

They passed shops with the most unique 
titles: “Au bon Diable,” u A la Brioche 
Renommee,” “ Aux Cent Mille Souliers.” 
Women, with great trays of violets and white 
hyacinths, held up nosegays as they passed. 
In the booths, near Notre Dame, the sun fell 
upon masses of faded gorgeousness ; priests’ 
vestments of green, of scarlet, of orange, 
worked in gold and silver ; rags, of cloth of 
gold set with bits of dulled glass represent- 
ing precious stones, of torn lace, of old bro- 
cades stained with wine and time. Here 
and there, tankards of copper and brass, bits 
of old silver, rosaries, crucifixes. Behind, in 
the warm shadow, a girl, with the face of a 
malevolent gypsy, and a dark-red, laughing 
mouth, pressed her cheek against the Persian 
cat on her shoulder, showing teeth as white 
as its fur, and flashing the sun into its blink- 
ing beryl eyes from the little mirror of old 
Dutch silver in her hand. 

“ There’s a subject for you ! ” said Far- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 79 

ranee ; “ but what values, eh ? We’d have 
to resurrect Van Ryn himself for that, 
wouldn’t we ? ” 

The streets got broader again, less crowd- 
ed — they were nearing the Gare. At a 
stand on one side a man and woman were 
making toffy. A little circle of iron hooks 
were set into a wooden pole, and upon these 
they tossed lumps of the gluey stuff, red, 
blue, and white, pulling them into the de- 
sired brittleness, with quick movements on 
one hand, while keeping off the crowding 
children with the other. Farrance threw the 
latter some sous, and as the cab drove on 
they heard one of the urchins shout : “ Enfin 
e’est un Tricolore de sucre. Vive la France! 
Vive le Tricolore de sucre ! ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


They were fortunate enough to get a sec- 
ond-class compartment to themselves. The 
others were soon chattering and laughing 
over a basket of sandwiches, but Jean and 
Farrance preferred to sit opposite each other 
at the windows and look out at the greening 
country. The calm, fair landscape swept in 
long lines under the pale blue of the sky, 
which seemed very near. One saw objects 
outlined in a fringe against it, trees, sheep, 
wagons, the red-tiled walls and cottages. 
The poplars, trimmed to a tufted head, were 
putting out luxuriant shoots all up their slen- 
der boles, and Jean said that they had al- 
ways reminded her of large green Dorkings 
standing on one ruffled leg. She hoped that 
the forest of Fontainebleau was not like that 
— she would be so disappointed. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 8 1 

Farrance replied that she must wait and 
judge for herself. He did not speak, except 
to answer her, and she grew silent after 
awhile, thinking him absorbed in searching 
a motif for his day’s work. 

Mrs. Benson as she shredded the fibres of 
meat from a chicken wing with her square 
teeth, was talking in a low voice to Ellen 
Ferguson, and Mr. Benson had retired be- 
hind a copy of the Figaro. 

u Now you mark my words,” his wife was 
saying, “ it’ll be exactly as I told you the 
very day of the funeral. He’s going to 
marry her — sure. You watch him how he 
looks at her every now and then, when he 
thinks she ain’t noticing. And she does the 
same thing, only not so often. She cares 
the most. She’s nervous. He ain’t. It’ll 
be a good thing for her. She’s as sweet a 
girl as I ever saw, and smart. My dear, that 
child is as keen as a brier. She’ll be the 
making of him. You see now. It’ll be a 


1 82 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

splendid thing all round. I bet he asks her 
to-day. Yes, I do. I bet a pair of light- 
gray gloves with black stitching on the 
back.” 

“ Well, I can’t bet,” said Ellen, with her 
usual cautious timidity, “ because, you see, I 
wouldn’t be surprised much if he did, only I 
don’t feel sure one way or the other.” 

Mrs. Benson cackled good-naturedly. 

“ I d’clare, Ellen Ferguson, you do remind 
me more of a cat in walnut-shells than any- 
thing in the world. You lift up each idea 
and shake it carefully before using it, exactly 
like a cat in that fix does its feet. Well, I’ll 
give you the gloves anyhow, if he does. 
Now sit sideways between him and me, be- 
cause my nose shines and this is Bois-le-Roi, 
and I’m going to powder it — I mean my 
nose. He-he ! ” and she cackled again. 

The same lovely weather they had left at 
Paris enveloped Fontainebleau. It was de- 
cided that they should drive to the heart of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 83 

the forest, spend the day there, and walk 
back in time for the eight o’clock train. Mrs. 
Benson, however, wished first to visit the 
chateau. So they passed through the iron 
gate and walked up the paved way toward 
the grand entrance, and then through the 
right archway of the castle to the carp pond. 
An old woman, under a sort of tent, sold 
them bits of stale bread, and the five leaned 
over the stone railing to feed the great lazy 
fish. One had a grotesquely large eye, the 
size of a thimble, and was ravenously greedy, 
shooting out his droll sucking lips at the 
morsels of bread, and lashing the water with 
his cream and scarlet body. Two young 
soldiers next to Jean were convulsed at his 
antics. “ Ah ! ah ! ” they would cry. “ Ah ! 
Voila ce monsieur-la ! Oh ! quel monstre ! 
Quel tableau! Oh! la-la!” Jean found 
herself watching them instead of the carp, 
and was startled when Farrance pushed her 
gently to one side and stepped in between. 


1 84 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ These boys are very rude sometimes. 
They might jostle you,” he remarked, by 
way of explanation. 

“ Oh ! n said Jean ; then added quickly: 
“ yes, of course — thank you.” 

There were only a few people waiting to 
go through the palace that day. Jean hung 
a little behind ; the tapping of her high heels 
seemed a frivolous sound to penetrate that 
stillness as of dignified death. 

She stood for some time before the bed 
on which Napoleon had slept, with its cover- 
ing laid smoothly and its simple letter N in 
gilt at head and foot. A large mirror was 
let into the wall at its side. She had visions 
of the man raising himself on his elbow 
under that gorgeous coverlet and regarding 
his image in that glass, silently, with per- 
haps something of wonder — he and his 
shadow alone in the firelight from the huge 
chimney-place. 

Farrance missed her suddenly, as the old 

































































Gazing Curiously into the Large Mirror.— p. 185. 




ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 85 

guide was explaining how the deep mark in 
the mahogany table, where the emperor 
signed his abdication, was made by the fu- 
rious dashing down of his pen. 

He looked around, expecting to see Jean’s 
little teeth uncovered in a gay laugh of dis- 
belief. She was not there and he turned 
back to see what had become of her. He 
found her on the bed of Napoleon, gazing 
curiously into the large mirror. 

She flushed when she saw his reflection 
coming toward her in the glass, and slipping 
down went quickly forward to meet him. 
Farrance could not help laughing outright. 

“You strange child!” he exclaimed. 
“ Will you tell me what on earth you were 
thinking about ? ” 

“ Oh, about him, of course,” she an- 
swered. “ I was wondering what thoughts 
must have come to him, lying there in the 
firelight. How he must have looked into 
his own eyes and said : ‘You are Napoleon, 


1 86 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Napoleon the Emperor of the French. You 
were once poor and unknown, and now 
you are emperor, emperor, emperor ! But 
though you have the lives of all these 
Frenchmen there in that hand you hold up, 
you cannot make one dream come or go ! 
No, not one ! You rule all France, but your 
dreams are rulers over you. Presently your 
eyelids will close and sleep will come, and 
then dreams, horrid dreams, perhaps ; 
memories of battle-fields, mangled bodies, 
screams of agony. You will dream of all 
the mothers you have made desolate, of all 
the blood that would not have been shed but 
for you, and not until you wake up again 
will you be emperor.’ ” 

“ How you feel things ! ” said Farrance. 
“ Do you know, Jean, it is terrible to feel 
everything as you do. You tempt such aw- 
ful suffering.” 

“ But then happiness makes me happier 
than other people.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 187 

“ Perhaps so. To feel as you do is a gift, 
like painting or writing. Are gifted people 
ever very happy ? ” 

“Yes — only unhappiness generally comes 
last instead of first, and we always think the 
present is more intense than the past was/' 

“ You mean ? ” 

“ I mean that when you feel things in- 
tensely, terribly, almost, if you love first and 
then hate, although you may have loved just 
as much as you hate, you are apt to think 
your hate is the deepest.” 

“You have thought a great deal about 
love and hate, Jean ? ” 

“ Everyone has who has thought at all, 
haven’t they ? ” 

“ I imagine you have more than most of 
us. I wish you would tell me some. of your 
ideas about it all. Will you ? ” 

“ I don’t know. They aren’t very clear, I 
should not know how to tell them.” 

“ And you have an ideal ? ” 


1 88 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ What is the use,” asked the child sor- 
rowfully, “ when it is only the real that hap- 
pens ? ” 

“ You have lived too much alone, Jean.” 

“Yes. Very likely. But, after all, I have 
often thought that two people who loved 
themselves utterly must feel more lonely 
than the rest.” 

“ But why ? ” 

“ Because they must wish so desperately 
to be as one, and they never can be. It is 
not so hard to feel apart, when you feel in- 
different ; but to love, and still feel apart — 
as your hand belongs to you, serves you, is 
always near you, and yet is not you. No, 
you don’t understand and I can’t explain it to 
you.” 

“ My dear, I understand you very well,” 
said Farrance, soberly. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


The forest was enchanting with its violet- 
gray mist, its moss-greened tree-stems, its 
tender spray of young spring leaves. Blades 
of grass here and there pierced through the 
carpet of reddish winter foliage. Once a 
deer, breast high in the dead ferns, paused 
to eye them, with lifted head and questioning 
nostrils. An old couple by the roadside was 
gathering wild violets. The woman, seated 
on a fallen tree, held open the skirt of her 
black gown, into which her white-haired 
companion placed handfuls of the little 
flowers. 

“ There’s your chance, Farrance ! ” shouted 
Benson. “ Paint it half life-size and call it 
‘ Winter in the Lap of Spring ! ’ ” 

Farrance laughed and said that he did not 


190 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

like the notion of appropriating other people’s 
ideas. 

“ But it would make a good jpicture ; don’t 
you think so ? ” asked Jean, shyly. “ Watch 
them \then they look at each other. It is so 
gentle and affectionate. She has crape on 
her dress and there’s a deep band on his hat. 
I think they must have lost a little grandchild. 
And what lovely soft hair they both have. 
And how rosy her pretty old cheeks are. 
She is an image of a dear, fresh lady-apple.” 

“Would you really like to have a sketch 
of them ? ” asked Farrance. 

“ But how?” she said, puzzled. 

“ Cocher ! ” he called, in reply. The cab 
drew up sharply. 

“ I’m going to adopt your advice, Benson, 
after all,” he explained, as the others stopped 
too. “ I’m going to spend twenty minutes 
here and make a sketch for Jean. She’s tak- 
en a fancy to this French Darby and Joan.” 
Mrs. Benson sent Ellen a swift glance 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 191 

which said: “You won’t get those gloves, 
my dear girl.” 

Benson, glad to get on his legs again, 
gave an enormous stretch and shake to his 
long body. 

“ Let’s stop here for good,” he suggested. 
“ It’s as nice as anywhere, I guess.” 

“ Well, let us, then,” assented his wife. 
They sent away the cabs, and went wander- 
ing off among the huge moss-covered stones 
which lay piled about on the hill-sides under 
the bossed, twisted oaks. 

After a time Farrance chose a point to 
work from, and setting a short pipe between 
his teeth, put up his easel and poured some 
lavender-scented varnish over the wooden 
panel on which he was about to work, rub- 
bing it in with a large bristle brush. 

“ You can superintend this performance if 
you like,” he said to Jean, “but the rest of 
you must clear out. I’m too modest to work 
with ten eyes pinning me all at once.” 


192 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ I don’t think you’re so awful modest ! ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Benson, tossing her heavy 
coils. “ Who wants to stay near your smelly 
old paint things, when they can get this 
heavenly forest air ? D’you s’pose we came 
all the way from Paris to watch you mess 
with horrid oil and varnish ? Not much ! 
Jean can stay if she likes. Ellen and Jack 
and I are going to the fountain or pond or 
whatever it is near here. The cocher said 
they had snakes in boxes, and a swing, and 
Louis Quinze’s head on a rock, and all sorts 
of lovely things. It’s right round the road 
here a little way. When you’re through you 
can come too. But I’m sure I like your call- 
ing yourself modest ! Modest indeed ! Ellen 
was telling me only this morning that some- 
one told her last week * that Adrian Farrance 
is the most conceited fellow in Paris,’ and 
they said they hoped your picture for this 
Salon’d be as stuck up as you are yourself. 
He-he ! ” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 93 

Farrance laughed and began to indicate 
the position of his sketch with a pointed 
brush. 

“ It will have to be half guesswork,” he 
said to Jean, as the others walked off. 
“ Don’t tell on me — and don’t expect finished 
portraits of your old love-makers. They 
won’t be much more than two spots of dark 
gray, light gray, and purple.” 

“You are too good to do it at all,” re- 
turned Jean, who was delighted. He dashed 
away in silence for a time and she stood 
watching him, with a bunch of fresh brushes 
in her hand, through which he searched hur- 
riedly now and then. After half an hour of 
this he turned around suddenly and said : 

“You must be worn out standing there. 
Do Pfo and sit on one of those rocks. I’ll be 
done with it in a minute or two — or would 
you like to join the others ? ” 

“ No. I’d much rather watch you — if you 
don’t mind.” 

13 


194 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ I like it,” he answered ; “ but sit down. 
I feel that you are tired. Wait a minute — • 
there’s a book in my pocket, if you’d like to 
read.” 

“ Thank you. I’d rather just sit quietly. 
I can read in Paris. I love to watch the 
wind and sun through the leaves there, and 
I will get some of the wild violets for Mrs. 
Benson and Ellen.” She took off her hat 
and laid it on the rock beside her, letting the 
wind rush through her loosely knotted hair. 
The shadows fell upon her face in grayish 
rose color, with gold about the edges. 
Where her dress was cut away about her 
young throat gleamed a little band of milk- 
fair flesh. 

“ I should like to make a study of you as 
you are now,” said Farrance, suddenly. The 
old people had wandered out of sight some 
moments ago. 

“ Well, you can,” she told him. And he 
worked for another hour. At the end of this 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 95 

time he came and sat down by her, looking 
at his work through his hollowed hand. 

“ I wonder what title Benson would sug- 
gest for that,” he said after awhile. " I 
might call it ‘ The Girl with the Meeting 
Eyebrows,’ like the shepherd’s sweetheart in 
Theocritus. Or would you like ‘ CEnone of 
the Married Brows,’ after Tennyson ? ” 

“ I’ve always thought it was so ugly to 
have one’s brows meet like that,” said Jean. 

“ The Greeks didn’t,” said Farrance. 

“ But then one ought to have a Greek nose 
to go with it.” 

“ I don’t know. I rather doubt whether 
the Greeks really had those noses they gave 
their statues: They are ugly, I grant you — 
at least to my idea. But you are like one of 
those idyls I spoke of just now. I can fancy 
you brewing the magic drink for a false lover, 
with your black Venus instead of Thestylis 
to help you. I can fancy you saying, ‘ Del- 
phis troubled me, and against Delphis am I 


196 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

burning this laurel, and lo ! even thus may 
the flesh of Delphis waste in the burning ! ’ ” 

“ Why can you fancy me saying that ? I 
don’t believe that a great, real love is ever 
selfish and cruel like that.” 

“ Don’t you, my dear ? I fancy you are 
thinking of affection ; not love, the passion. 
A passion is always cruel ; to one’s self if 
not to others.” 

“ No, I don’t mean affection,” said Jean. 
“ I mean the way that men and women love 
each other.” 

“ And what do you know about that ? ” 

“ I know very little, but I feel a great 
deal.” 

“ And do you think one can lave twice ? ” 

“ I was thinking about that just now. 
There was a bee humming quite close to me 
over the violets, and it came to me that love 
stung once— then died as a bee does. No, I 
don’t think people love twice — not in the 
same way.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 1 97 

“ But all the ways of loving are sweet, 
dear.” 

“ I don’t know. I haven’t any way of 
knowing — perhaps I am all wrong.” 

“ Look, dear, suppose a man told you that 
he loved you, would you stop to question 
whether it was his first or his twenty-first 
love ? ” 

“ It would depend upon whether I loved 
him.” 

“ And if you loved him ? ” 

“ Then it would depend upon whether he 
loved me.” 

“ Jean,” said Farrance, suddenly, “ I love 
you. Will you marry me ? ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


An entire silence followed these words of 
Farrance. Jean felt the blood beat stinging 
into her face and then ebb suddenly. He 
was looking into her eyes, which rested on 
him, wide, startled, and had put one of his 
hands over hers, which were sunk among the 
violets in her lap. He felt that she shivered. 
At last she drew her eyes from his. Her 
face whitened and she parted her lips as 
though to answer him. 

“ Will you, dear ? ” he urged, in a whisper. 
Her answer made him start back, taking 
away his hand. It was a low but distinct 
“ No,” firmly spoken. He stood looking 
down at her, pale also, after his swarthy 
fashion, his eyes indignant. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 1 99 

“No? And why? You doubt my word ? ” 
he said, at last 

“ I think you are mistaken. ” 

“ And it isn’t possible, I suppose, that you 
may be mistaken ? ’ 

“ Yes — but I do not think I am.” 

“ And you — do you love me ? ” 

“ I am very fond of you. I — I have great 
affection for you.” 

“ My dear girl, I am not asking for your 
affection.” 

“ Then you are not very generous,” said 
Jean, still in the quiet, low voice which she 
had at first employed; “because you have 
only affection to give me.” 

Farrance moved impatiently away for a 
.step or two, and then came back. 

“ You are mistaken. I love you, and with 
a love, too, that grows every day.” 

It had, in fact, grown with* a rapidity 
which startled him after that unequivocal 
“ No ” of hers. He found suddenly that her 


200 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


consent was of more importance to him than 
he had imagined it could be, and that it was 
not only from philanthropic motives and to 
please his dead wife that he wished to marry 
the girl. She had a charm for him which 
seemed to increase in direct ratio to every 
moment of her present coldness. 

“ Do you believe me ? ” he asked, finding 
that she did not speak. 

“ I believe that you believe what you say.” 

“ Jean ! I never knew that you were so 
obstinate.” 

“ I am not obstinate. I only see all this 
clearer than you do. You are fond of me, 
you see me leading a lonely, unprotected life 
— a dangerous one, probably. You know 
that — that she loved me. You don’t care 
for anything much. I amuse you. You 
don’t wish anything sad or harmful to hap- 
pen to me. It is kind and good of you, but 
I — you see — no — you must listen, you must 
listen ” she broke off, growing suddenly 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 201 

excited, as he turned away again with an im- 
patient “ Pshaw ! ” 

“ I will not marry a man who loves me in 
that way.” 

She, too, was on her feet now. The color 
glowed again on her face. Her eyes were 
dark and shone steadily as they rested upon 
his. 

“ I will not marry a man who cares for me 
as you do,” she repeated. Farrance was 
excited too. 

“ How do you know in what way I love 
you ? ” he demanded. “ Can you see into 
men’s hearts ? I have not pretended to feel 
for you what I once felt. You know very 
well that I am not such a hypocrite. That 
is gone— done with. I care for you in an 
utterly different way. It is absurd to com- 
pare the two feelings. But I care for you — 
I care for you intensely.” He lifted her 
hands suddenly to his breast. “Jean, look 
at me ; I want to see your eyes ! ” 


202 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


‘ I will look at you as much as you wish,” 
she said calmly, though trembling a little ; 
“ but it is not love you feel for me. No man 
can feel twice what you have felt — and— 
and ” — here the trembling became violent — 
“ if I married you I should want to be loved 
as much as you loved — her.” 

“ As much in a different way — I can — I 
will, child. Look, I swear it to you ! You 
have roused something new in me during the 
last twenty minutes. I am not cold about it 
as you think. I care desperately about your 
answer. I wouldn’t have believed this morn- 
ing that I could care so much for anything 
on earth. My child — my little dear one, 
come close to me — you can rest so forever if 
you wish to ”* 

Suddenly she drew back from him, turned 
away with an anguished gesture. 

“ I can see her — I can see her now,” she 
cried in a heart-broken voice ; “ all white 

and cold and pitiful — lying there between us 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 20 3 

in her coffin ! I can see you — I can see your 
eyes ! Oh, how you loved her ! How you 
loved her ! I thought that you would die 
too — and now you want to marry me ! You 
say that you will love me as much ! It seems 
too terrible ! ” 

Farrance’s face grew ghastly ; and then he 
controlled himself with an effort. He stood 
thinking for some moments. 

“ Jean,” he said, suddenly, “will you sit 
here again and let me talk to you a little 
while.” 

She sat down beside him, her hands fold- 
ed hard one over the other upon her knee, 
her lips pale and pressed together, her eyes 
on the dead leaves and spring grass at her 
feet. 

“ What I want to say is this,” began Far- 
rance ; “you feel all this so differently from 
what I do, because you have religious be- 
liefs which I have not. To you, Lilian lives 
somewhere in another world — another state. 


204 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


To me she exists no more than she did to 
her mother before she was born. She is as 
completely gone from me as the breath I 
have just breathed, and the words we have 
been speaking. To me this life is all. It 
cannot, perhaps, be just what it was, but it 
still holds pleasant, even lovely, things. Love 
is still love, though it takes different forms, 
as I was myself when a child, and will be my- 
self if I live to be an old man. It is not the 
first distraction of love I give you, but it is a 
strong feeling. I don’t think you need be 

afraid to accept it, that is- ” he broke off, 

and his hand was on hers again ; “ that is, if 
you love me, Jean.” 

Still she was silent, and presently he went 
on : “ If you don’t love me, my dear, just 
say so as bravely and quietly as you say other 
things ; but I hope with all my heart that 
you won’t keep to that ‘No’ of yours, dar- 
ling. Here is another thing that may help 
you. She left me a letter saying that she 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 205 

hoped I would marry again, and that it would 
be you. She loved you very much, Jean.” 

“It is that, it is that,” panted the girl. 

“ She loved me and I — and I ” There 

was a sort of horror in her face as she stared 
at him. “ I can see her so plainly,” she said 
again. “ And you — I can see you kneeling 
there in the snow. Her voice comes back 
to me now. I can hear her say, ‘ Adrian ’ 
and ‘ Jean/ How can you believe that she 
isn’t anywhere ? I am afraid of you when 
you say things like that. You must feel 
that there is something beyond all this. 
Why, I have never felt that even birds and 
dogs die. I do not believe that a man — 
that anyone who doesn’t love God can love 
another in the highest way ■” 

“ My dear, we can love the attributes of 
God without imagining a supernatural being 
to whom they belong. I can love justice, 
mercy, truth, purity, love itself, although I 
don’t believe in the Jehovah of the Israelites. 


20 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

After all, if I don’t believe, is it my fault? 
Belief is certainly a more comfortable state. 
To turn from orthodoxy to what one thinks 
is the bare truth is like turning from a great 
easy-chair to a stone bench. What a pro- 
saic simile ! Eh ? And after all, dear, I feel 
very much like the talking pot in Omar : 

“ Some there are who tell 

Of One who threatens he will toss to hell 
The luckless pots he marred in making. Pish ! 

He’s a good fellow and ’twill all be well.” 

“ I never believed in a hell/’ said the 
girl. “ It is not that — it is only that such a 
love should pass, that you should want it to 
pass — that ” 

A curious expression came over Far- 
rance’s face. 

“ I wonder whether you would think me 
crazy if I told you something ? ” he asked 
her. 

“ No — tell me ! ” she said, almost implor- 
ingly. She hungered for any possible light 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 20 7 

which he might be able to throw on the con- 
fusion and doubts in her mind. “ Tell me ! ” 
she repeated, in her earnestness uncon- 
sciously resting her fingers upon his. He 
lifted them gently to his lips, and then sat 
smoothing them absently for a moment or 
two. 

“ Well,” he began finally. “ I cannot 
even attempt to explain such a paradox, but 
the truth is, Jean, that I love her at the same 
time that I love you, and that though my 
reason tells me she has gone from me for- 
ever, she is as real a presence to me as the 
spring about me.” 

“ It is strange/’ said the girl, lifting her 
lustrous eyes half solemnly to the blue air 
above ; “ but somehow I understand ” 

“ You do understand, Jean?” exclaimed 
Farrance. He drew her suddenly to his 
side. 

“ Yes,” she said, still looking far away 
from him ; “ because — because — I love her 


208 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


with all my heart — I would serve her in any 

way that I could, and yet ” She turned 

to him suddenly, her face changed, vivid, 
exquisite. She opened her arms with a 
childish, impulsive gesture of love, of aban- 
donment. 

“ Oh, I do love you ! ” she cried out to him. 
“ I thought I did not — but I do — I do ! ” 

Farrance, touched and delighted, would 
have taken her into his arms, but again she 
drew back. She covered her face with her 
hands. He saw the oval nails whiten with 
their pressure against her forehead. She 
was utterly still. It seemed to him that the 
blowing of the fragile spring foliage about 
them made her quietness seem more com- 
plete. It was as if she had stopped breath- 
ing. He did not attempt to touch her or 
speak to her, subdued by the knowledge of 
her greater emotion ; aware that a larger 
nature had touched his, and that he had 
roused a feeling which he could neither 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 2 Op 

measure nor control. He asked himself 
whether it would be manly to accept a love 
so much more intense than any he could 
offer in return — to make such a child into a 
wife who had not her husband’s whole heart ? 
“And yet,” he repeated to himself, “ I love 
her far more than I thought I did.” Life 
seemed to him a strange chaos of beginnings, 
of endings, of phrases written half in one 
language, half in another ; of present, past, 
future mingled in avast conglomeration ; like 
a book badly bound, in which the last pages 
come first, and the end of which is an un- 
finished sentence. 

Presently she turned to him ; she let him 
see her face, which was pale, the lips quiver- 
ing, the eyes without tears. 

“You must not say any more to me now,” 
she said, whispering. “ I want to think a 
long, long time. There are so many things. 
I am so tired. I want so much to be by my- 
self.” Her voice broke piteously. 

15 


210 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ I will go away and leave you, dear,” said 
Farrance at once. “ You can call me when 
you wish me.” 

He knelt down suddenly and put both arms 
about her as she sat crouched together on 
the rough stone. 

“ You must try and feel my love as a rest. 
I would not have troubled you so for worlds, 
my dear, dear little girl ! ” 

“Thank you. You are so good and kind. 
But you’ll go away now ? ” 

After about half an hour she called to him. 
Her face was still pale but quiet under its 
fine, level brows, and she had smoothed and 
retwisted her hair. 

“ Let us go to look for the others, not 
wait for them to look for us,” she said, and 
gathering the painting gear together, they 
set off in the direction indicated by Mrs. Ben- 


son. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Two weeks passed, during which Jean, shy 
and cold, avoided Farrance entirely. He, 
meantime, had become subject to that species 
of sudden, unexpected emotion which makes 
us in some dreams love even our enemies. 
His feeling for Jean advanced in a powerful 
wave, while hers seemed retreating with the 
quiet surety of the undertow. ( The hypno- 
tism of the unattainable was upon him, and 
he viewed life, art, himself, the future, from 
an entirely new standpoint. When he con- 
trasted his present frame of mind with the 
state of sapless indifference in which he had 
been for more than a year past, he was re- 
minded of those shrivelled bunches of fibres 
called “ Roses of Jericho,” which spread and 
blossom when plunged into a bath of cold 


212 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


water. The girl’s pure and maiden nature 
refreshed, invigorated, enthralled him, with a 
species of enchantment he had never before 
imagined. He could only compare it to the 
sensation which he sometimes experienced 
when sitting, charcoal in hand, before a 
blank canvas, dreaming of its hidden possi- 
bilities. 

The thought of her face as it had looked 
when she had held out her arms to him for 
that swift moment of self-revelation at Fon- 
tainebleau caused a keen curiosity as to what 
her love would prove under the test of daily 
companionship. She had for him that baf- 
fling interest which a Latin sentence in the 
midst of a page has for the man who reads 
only English. The meaning may or may not 
be profound. The desire to translate it is 
unconquerable. He was unconsciously more 
absorbed in what she might feel for him than 
in any possible emotion of his toward her, 
and could not draw satisfactory pictures of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 213 

her in this or that condition, since she never 
behaved under any circumstances as he had 
fancied beforehand that she would. As he 
sat smoking after breakfast in his atelier he 
began to fill the empty chairs with her im- 
agined figure, to follow the sparkling curve 
of her head against the rich shadows, the 
gleam of her small feet in their varnished 
shoes which would twinkle like points of jet 
beneath the straight skirt of her simple gown. 
She might have posed, he thought, for Fal- 
guiere’s buoyant statue of “ La Femme au 
Paon.” There was the same airy line of hip 
and shoulder, the same small, proud bust, the 
same delicately modelled arms and careless, 
tossed-back head. He thought of her as 
Psyche, seated on the grass, and tugging to 
open the cruel box of Venus, with lips pressed 
inward like a child’s and brows drawn into a 
pretty obstinacy. Painted in early June, 
with the opal fire of nude flesh in sunlight 
against young leaves, such a study, carefully 


214 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

worked out, might bring to pass one, at least, 
of his many day-dreams. 

She and the boy would be interesting too, 
as a motif. He, with his antique, gypsy air, 
she, with her pearl-tinted slenderness, as of 
a North American sea-nymph. 

During a full hour, enveloped in a film of 
tobacco smoke, with hands clasped behind 
him, with eyes plunged into the further 
shadows, restless, dissatisfied, he walked 
back and forth from one end of the room to 
the other, turning these thoughts over in his 
mind, questioning himself, his talent, his pru- 
dence, the quality of his sentiment toward 
this young girl who absorbed so much of his 
time and conjecture. At last thrusting him- 
self into another coat and taking up his hat, 
he went out into the warm afternoon air 
toward the Champs Elysees. As he passed 
a cafe near the Rond-Point he caught sight 
of Jean seated in a cab, the horse of which 
was clacking lamely down hill toward the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 21 5 

Place de la Concorde. He made a sign for 
the driver to stop. The rules of French 
etiquette are not applied to each other by 
American artists living en camarade on the 
left bank of the Seine, and the proprieties 
were as little consulted by Farrance on this 
occasion as they would have been in a pro- 
vincial town in America. He found that she 
was not bound in any particular direction, 
only driving up and down among the gay 
throng for amusement, and remembering 
that there was a concert at the Cirque d’Ete, 
suggested that they should go there togeth- 
er. She replied that she would like it very 
much, and he got into the cab beside her. 
She was cool, demure, non-committal, keep- 
ing her eyes from him, her slight figure 
drawn as compactly into her corner of the 
cab as a little shellfish into its shell. As 
they drove on, a shower streamed suddenly 
through the pale sunlight in what looked like 
strands of fine steel beads. 


21 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Ah ! Le Diable marie sa fille,” said Far- 
rance. 

“ At home, we say he is beating his wife,” 
returned Jean. 

The cabman raised the hood and covered 
them up to their chins with the black oilcloth 
apron. 

“ Look at the women putting handker- 
chiefs over their hats,” went on Farrance. 
“ How they do scamper ! What a whirlwind 
of color ! Those children are like runaway 
bits of a kaleidoscope, and how majestic are 
the nou-nous, with their streaming cap rib- 
bons.” 

u The man with the paper whirligigs 
seems to be the most worried of all,” said 
Jean. “ Do call him. I want one ! ” 

“ You want a paper whirligig? ” exclaimed 
Farrance ; “ for yourself? ” 

“ No — for Tony ! He loves them,” she 
replied quietly. 

The man of the whirligigs was enthusias- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 217 

tic in his response to Farrance’s signal, fairly 
running toward them, while a little girl of 
about eight, in a black frock, toddled after 
him, balancing a huge cotton umbrella as 
well as she could over the fragile toys. The 
whole mass revolved gayly, fluttering on 
their wires like the petals of some huge and 
bizarre flowers, while suspended from 
threads behind pirouetted gay little dolls 
made of card-board, with parti-cdlored tissue- 
paper petticoats. 

Jean bought a whirligig and a doll, and 
Farrance gave a franc to the little girl. She 
said, “ Merthi, Monsieur ! Merthi, Madame ! ” 
at the same time dragging her sombre skirts 
over the damp pavement in a deep courtesy. 
As they went on they saw the man stoop and 
kiss her. 

“At least he’s good to her,” said Jean. 
“ The poor little soul. Did you see that all 
her toes were out of her shoes ? ” 

“ But they were very plump, rosy little 


218 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

toes/’ replied Farrance. “I hope that if Fm 
ever reduced to selling whirligigs, Tony will 
take to the life as kindly.” 

Jean laughed and blew upon her own 
whirligig, which spun round in a pink blur. 

There were left only two of the worst 
seats, when they went to buy their tickets, 
and they found themselves placed close* be- 
side the stage on the right hand, unable to 
see anything except the three harps above 
•them and the backs of the performers, one 
of whom was a young girl. 

The air was filled with the rustle of 
women who settled themselves, and there 
was a sharp twinkle of the harps which were 
being tuned. As he sat there by Jean, in 
the warm, dimly-lighted room, with the 
memory of the gray rain outside to accen- 
tuate his present feeling of soothed content- 
ment, he was amused to find that he already 
regarded her as a part of his life, and that to 
himself he criticised her gown, her hat, her 


ACC OR DING TO SA I NT JOHN 2 1 9 

jacket, even her gloves, with that sense of 
responsible proprietorship which a man feels 
in his wife. A sudden doubt jarred him, and 
he straightened himself with a movement of 
dissent, as the first chords from the overture 
to Gluck’s “ Orpheus ” vibrated through the 
hall. 

After being steeped for some moments in 
this deluge of harmony they began to ex- 
perience that subtle, music-born sense of 
mutual comprehension which, on occasions, 
can rouse the most practical. He looked at 
her, and this time her eyes met his. Her 
hand rested on the arm of the chair between 
them. He put his over it, and she trembled 
slightly. 

“ Do you love me ? ” he asked, in a low 
voice. 

She whispered back: “You must not! 
You must not ! ”) But she was astonished at 
that sudden waking of a long-quieted emo- 
tion, which is like the first movement of re- 


220 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


turning life in one who has been in a cata- 


She became conscious, as 



though for the first time, that she loved Far- 
rance, that he was beside her, that he was 
free, that he wished to marry her. 

They were now playing the third im- 
promptu of Chopin. Her veins seemed 
beating with music rather than with blood. 
She was whirled on in a reckless series of 
thoughts, of moods, of conjectures. 

The past had belonged to another, but it 
was over, done with, as forever gone from 
the vivid present as the one to whom it had 
belonged. A sort of intoxicated conscious- 
ness of triumphant life welled and mounted 
in her. She had fought, prayed, struggled, 
conquered. Yes, she had conquered her 
feeling for him — she had even thought it 
dead — and now it had come back again, as 
it were, refreshed by sleep, and he loved her, 
he wished to marry her. These feelings, 
over-excited and intensified by the wild mu- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 221 

sic, became so overpowering that she could 
bear them no longer, and started up as 
though to leave the hall. Farrance touched 
her arm and she sat down again, closing her 
eyes. 

“ It will be over in a minute,” he said. 
“ Only wait. I read your heart, Jean.” 

“ I am glad. I want you to,” she said, lift- 
ing her eyes with a certain courage. There 
was suddenly silence — then applause. They 
went out together into the deepening twi- 
light. Farrance called a cab. “ Au Bois,” 
he said as he got in. Then he turned to 
Jean, who made a slight movement like that 
of a bird when one it loves is near, and he 
drew her into his arms, bent down his head 
and rested his lips upon hers in one of those 
long kisses which mean either ecstasy or the 
absent-mindedness which has learned to re- 
gard them as part of a routine. 

The girl, alarmed, bewildered, yet con- 
scious of a new and subtle sense of delight. 


222 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


poignant as flame and sweeter than all her 
young wonderings about love, half yielded, 
half withdrew herself in his embrace, too con- 
fused to realize what was happening to her 
in this sudden step from affection to passion, 
her whole consciousness throbbing within the 
circle of a kiss. 

Farrance, for his part, after the first pulse 
of male triumph and exultation, was teased 
by a cool, slow-trickling sense of disappoint- 
ment, of flatness, which distilled itself drop 
by drop through his veins, and finally made 
the quiver of his lips upon the gin . a forced 
imitation of kisses which he had bestowed 
years ago in another mood and upon another 
mouth. Between him and the little figure 
which he held in his arms crept another fig- 
ure, like the ghost in Heine’s song, and said 
to him : “ Do you remember our first kiss, 
given on that afternoon in the woods outside 
the little town where we were acting ? It 
was not like this.” As the child’s heart beat 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


223 


higher and higher, his pulses quieted to a 
dull measure. He drew away his head with 
a sigh, and Jean hid her face in the folds of 
her cloak, shivering in the loosened clasp of 
his arms. It was a moment of crisis for 
both. Such kissels are always the seal of de- 
spair or happiness, faith or treachery, self- 
abandonment, or self-sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XX. 


The wedding day was fixed for the ist of 
December, and during the six months that 
intervened Farrance was harassed by vary- 
ing moods, which left him now in high spirits 
now in chasms of gloom, now coldly philo- 
sophical or possessed of a tender remorse 
which caused him to lavish upon Jean the 
most affectionate words and caresses ; he 
never gave her another kiss, however, like 
that first one, and she was not sorry. It had 
frightened as much as enraptured her, and 
she loved better the quiet joy of leaning on 
his breast while he stroked her bright hair 
and told her of strange things that he had 
seen and read ; while her ear was happily 
filled with the regular sound of his heart, 
against which it was pressed. It seemed to 



Jean. — p. 224 

















































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ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 225 

her that when a bird sings for the first time 
it must feel as her own heart felt now. She 
longed to embrace the whole world ; kissed 
often the brown face of Venus, and even 
touched with her lips the petals of the hya- 
cinths and primroses in her window, wishing 
that these lovely days could last forever. 

But Farrance, driven finally to a sort of 
desperation by his conflicting moods, short- 
ened their engagement two months, and they 
were married October ist. 

On his wedding - night he had a dream 
which seemed to him of several hours’ dura- 
tion. He thought that as he lay there listen- 
ing to Jean’s soft breathing, and holding one 
of her slight hands against his breast, Lilian 
came and stood beside the bed, resting her 
hand upon theirs. He could not move or 
look at her, but he knew that she was there, 
and a cold moisture broke out upon him. 
Presently she spoke and said : “ Do you 
know that it is snowing to-night ? ’’ He tried 


22 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

to answer, but could not move his lips any 
more than he could his eyes. “It is three 
inches deep where I have to lie/’ she con- 
tinued. “ Come and stay with me for a little 
while until I am warm. The child is asleep. 
She will not miss you/’ And then, some- 
how, he was upon his feet following her, 
still without being able to utter a word. 
And when they came to the graveyard the 
grave was open and the coffin, for he could 
see its white satin lining glistening in the 
wan light ; and suddenly she fell on her 
knees beside the narrow opening, wringing 
her hands and crying : “ Oh, I had for- 
gotten ! I had forgotten ! There is not room 
for two. Go back ! Go back ! I have 
brought you out into the storm for noth- 
ing ! ” Then he saw her creep into the 
grave, and lie down in the coffin ; and the 
falling snow soon hid her from his sight, 
while he stood there as in chains, powerless 
to stir hand or foot, or to cry out. He awoke 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 22 7 

with a horrible start, and saw the walls of 
the little room glowing in the dim firelight, 
the outline of the curly head on the pillow 
beside him, the gleam of the wedding-ring 
on the hand which he still held. 

After a moment or two he got up very 
quietly and ascended the little stairway 
which led from the next room into his ate- 
lier. The apartment had belonged to a pho- 
tographer, and the roof and sides of this 
room were entirely enclosed in glass. Be- 
yond stretched the chimney-pots and roofs 
of many houses which were covered with 
snow. One looked down into a marble-yard, 
where already some workmen were moving 
about in the gray light. Just outside, a bit 
of the roof not enclosed in glass held pots 
of dead flowers, and was surrounded by a 
rotten wooden railing covered with ivy. 
Grape-vines, trained upon poles, rattled in 
the keen wind of dawn. Unconscious of the 
bitter cold which pierced through the cloak 


228 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

he had thrown about him, Farrance stood 
for a long- while staring out at the eastern 
thread of fierce orange which widened and 
lengthened slowly, as though a worm of fire 
were eating its way through the zinc sheet 
of the sky. As he watched the breaking of 
the first day of that new life which he had 
chosen for himself, some lines of Heine’s 
which he had not thought of since boyhood 
came suddenly back to him : 


“ My sweetest love, when in the grave, 
The dark grave, thou shalt hide thee, 

Then surely I will come to thee, 

And nestle in beside thee. 

I kiss thee, clasp thee, crush thee wild, 
So still and silent lying : 

I call thee, trembling ; I softly weep 
Till I myself seem dying. 

The midnight speaks, the dead arise, 

In mazes dancing lightly ; 

We two alone are in our grave, 

Your chill arms fold me tightly. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


229 


The dead arise ; the Day of Doom 
Doth give them joy or sorrow ; 
We two alone for nothing grieve, 
Nor crave a happier morrow.” 


“ Some men would shoot themselves, I 
suppose,” he said, marking out the rhythm of 
the lines upon the frozen panes by which he 
stood. A little stumbling noise made him 
turn, and he saw Jean standing in the door- 
way at the head of the stairs ; her dressing- 
gown, of a bright happy blue, covering her ; 
on her cheeks that deep babyish pink which 
comes to some women with sleep; her eyes 
smiling at him ; her pretty shape trembling a 
little, partly with cold, partly with shyness. 

“ Are you ill ? I was frightened,” she 
said, stopping where she stood and trying to 
smooth out her rumpled hair over the curve 
of her small head. Her feet in their red, 
rosetted slippers looked like two dahlia flow- 
ers fallen at the hem of her skirt. 

“ My child, you will kill yourself,” he ex- 


230 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

claimed, going toward her. “ What on 
earth made you come up here ? ” 

“ I thought you were ill,” she said, still 
timid and confused ; and then, as she saw 
the burning veil of the sky beyond the shriv- 
illed plants and vines outside : “ Oh, how 

lovely ! How lovely ! It is like fairy land 
up here.” 

“ But you must not stand here, Jean, in 
these draughts,” said Farrance. She turned 
to him suddenly with a little air of coquetry 
which pierced his heart ; her head thrown 
back, her slight arms outstretched. 

“ Then take me up,” she suggested. “ I’m 
not heavy, and I can pull your cloak over 
my feet.” 

He lifted her up and she leaned with one 
arm about his neck, laughing a little nerv- 
ously, and feeling suddenly that she weighed 
a great deal. 

“ I am heavy ? ” she asked in a little while. 

“ No ! It’s like holding a doll.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 23 1 

“ Ah ! That is because you are so 
strong. What arms you have ; they are like 
iron. And I never saw the top of your head 
before — not so well. You’re a little gray! 
Did you know it? But it’s lovely, the white 
in your black hair ! ” She stooped and 
touched it lightly with her lips. 

“ Now I must carry you down,” said Far- 
rance. 

“ What ! Down the stairs — this way ? 
But you might fall ! ” 

“ The idea! With an elf like you? Why 
you’re not heavier than a handful of thistle- 
fluff!” 

“ But down-stairs ! I feel as though I 
should drag you over. Now — now — oh ! 
mind the step ! Oh, be careful ! Oh, you 
don’t know how queer I feel ! Just like' a 
child on Christmas morning ! ” 

“ And I am Santa Claus carrying you off, I 
suppose, to put you in somebody’s stock- 
ing ? ” 


232 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Then it would have to be one of Maman 
Cici’s,” cried Jean, with her pretty chuckling 
laugh. 

“ And now,” said Farrance, descending 
the last step, “ here we are, and I am going 
to tuck you up in this big chair while I light 
the fire. Then you can make our first cup 
of coffee while I boil the eggs.’’ 

“ It’s like a picnic ! ” said Jean, bounding 
up and down where Farrance had placed her 
until the springs of the old chair rang to- 
gether. “ And how cosy it is ! and how 
dear ! Like the sweetest doll’s house ! Oh, 
Adrian ! ” she exclaimed, breaking off sud- 
denly and calling him by his name for the 
first time, “ I am so happy ! I am so happy ! ” 
She slipped from the chair and ran to him, 
kneeling down beside him as he stooped 
over the fire, and dragging his head against 
hers. “My dear, dear! You are so good 
to me ! Do you know ? A lovely thought 
has come to me. It is just as if someone 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 233 

had whispered in my ear. You will be glad ! 
Oh ! I do thank God for sending me such a 
happy, happy thought ! It is like the most 
beautiful wedding-present from heaven ! ” 

“ And what is it, dear child ? ” 

“ It is that she sees me and is glad with us 
— like an angel — she wishes us to be so 
happy.” 

She hid her face against his shoulder and 
clung to him while he knelt rigidly, the little 
bundle of fagots still in his hand. Presently 
he stooped and kissed her, and said, in a low 
voice, something that she did not catch. He 
went into the next room and stood quite still 
after he had closed the door, looking wildly 
about him for a moment or two ; then draw- 
ing his hand over his face as though to 
smooth out its expression, which he felt must 
be ghastly, he went back to Jean. 

She was busy with the new coffee-pot, and 
glanced up at him delighted as he entered. 
“Venus can do all this to-morrow,” she 


234 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

said, “but I am so glad we are cooking our 
first breakfast. I’m famished — are you ? 
Oh, but you look tired, Adrian! You look 
pale ! What’s the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing, sweetheart ! What on earth 
could be the matter ? ” 

“ But why do you look so pale ? ” 

“ Don’t you know that some people turn 
pale for joy ? 

“ Oh ! ” shyly ; “ is that it ? And you are 
perfectly happy ? ” 

“ Why, Jean, what questions ! ” 

“ No, but you haven’t been thinking that 

perhaps — that if — that ” She had grown 

pale too, and stood gazing at him, her brows 
troubled. 

“ My dear little one ! ” exclaimed Far- 
rance, catching her in his arms almost 
roughly. But she freed herself and held 
him from her, searching his face. 

“ And you are perfectly, perfectly happy ? 
You would not change anything? You 


ACCORDING TO SAINT' JOHN 235 

would not go back? You would not undo 
it? You would not have it different? You 
want me for your wife more than you want 
anything in the world — more than you want 
success in painting ? You are happy ? You 
are glad ? Tell me ! Tell me ! Tell me in 
words ! I have given you all, all ! If I could 
only be near you I would never care to hear 
another strain of music for all eternity. You 
are my love — my life- — my breath of life ! 
Oh, see how I am speaking to you ! That 
must show you how I adore you, how 
utterly I am yours ! ” 

Farrance kissed her in a passion of re- 
morse, which she took for the passion of 
love. 

“ I will make her happy — I will — I will ! ” 
he said in his heart. “ I will fight this mor- 
bidness as though it were a devil and had 
a bodily presence. God help me ! ” He 
smiled a little bitterly when he realized this 
inadvertent prayer. “ Anguish makes men 


236 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

pray,” he thought, “just as it makes dogs 
howl.” He took Jean in his arms again and 
went and sat down in the great chair, keep- 
ing her upon his knee. 

So the morning ended happily for her in 
spite of smoked coffee and four very hard- 
boiled eggs. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


It seemed to Farrance that to think with 
longing of the dead wife while you hold the 
living one in your arms is a pang to make 
men wonder why physical suffering was add- 
ed to the throes of Job. 

During these first weeks of marriage the 
mere iteration of the words “ Mrs. Farrance,” 
as applied to Jean, twisted his heart-strings. 
He shrank from it as religious men shrink 
from a blasphemy against the name of God. 
He read and re-read the letter which he had 
found in Lilian’s desk, although he knew it 
by heart ; craving the sight of the written 
words as one craves to hear the voice of the 
beloved utter the well-worn sentences which 
have become part of life itself. To see traced 
by her own hand that cry : “ And oh ! if it 


238 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

could be little Jean ! ” brought him a certain 
consolation which no thought of his own 
could offer. “ I did what she wished, I did 
what she wished,” he said to himself a thou- 
sand times ; but memory seemed like the 
octagon room of Poe, closing upon him daily, 
inch by inch. The past became the real, the 
present the unreal. Jean seemed to him 
vague, elusive ; his marriage to her an un- 
defined bond which led him to treat her as 
a daughter, a friend, a sister, rather than a 
wife. She was the magnifying glass through 
which Lilian’s features, both of face and char- 
acter, became more and more distinct. 
Every movement of the poor child called up 
the contrasting movement which would have 
been Lilian’s ; every look of her eyes made 
him remember the different expression which 
Lilian’s would have worn at such a time ; 
every touch of her hand, every turn of her 
bright throat, every tone of voice and laugh- 
ter, filled him with a terrible anguish of long- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 239 

in g, which would have been unendurable had 
it lasted without cessation. To place his lips 
against hers was like trying to slake great 
thirst upon some sweet, dry fruit, remember- 
ing the luscious growth of other lands. 

She loved him with passion, but with pas- 
sion of an intense spiritual order, which he 
could not comprehend. It differed from 
what he had felt for his dead wife as sunlight 
differs from heated metal. To him she ap- 
peared of a sweet, clear, chilly temperament, 
in which depth took the place of vehemence 
and sentiment of passion. 

He was thus placed in the position of ow- 
ing loyalty as a duty to one woman, while 
longing to bestow it as a free gift upon an- 
other ; and as a result remained true to 
neither. His thoughts of Lilian were dis- 
turbed by the presence of Jean ; his caresses 
of Jean chilled by the memory of Lilian. He 
told himself wretchedly that a man twice 
married is like a man who follows two arts. 


240 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

In the depth of his own heart he knows that 
one is dearer, while he bids himself believe 
that he loves both equally, though in a differ- 
ent manner. 

Jean, all this while, was entirely happy, 
with that buoyancy of a young bride who, 
overwhelmed by the realization of her own 
dreams, does not pause to examine profound- 
ly her husband’s state of mind. Farrance’s 
present mood also made him even quieter 
and less talkative than usual, and Jean, for 
whom the novelty of the situation was suffi- 
ciently exhilarating, did not notice that ab- 
sence of ardor in his caresses which might 
have made an older woman suspicious. To 
be near him, to belong to him, to hear her- 
self called by his name, were facts of which 
she was never tired, and which shut out all 
sense of anything lacking. 

After two weeks of honeymooning, how- 
ever, she went again to her musical studies, 
and Farrance to his cours. As she played 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 24 1 

the ceaseless scales, and arpeggios, and ex- 
ercises for fingering, there came back to her 
memories of those happy weeks, of those 
fourteen exquisite days, which had each pos- 
sessed its individual flavor of joy, as the hon- 
ey of different flowers holds a varying charm 
for the bees that rifle them. She loved to 
recall the first night that he took her to the 
play. It was “ Belle Maman,” and the ad- 
ventures of the young wife made her feel as 
though the play had been written expressly 
for her. Then, later, when one ofFarrance’s 
artist friends had come into the box, and he 
had spoken to her as “ Madame,” and she 
had started when Farrance touched her shoul- 
der and explained to her that she was the 
“ Madame ” addressed. How droll it had 
been ! How gay ! How they had laughed ! 
And then for him to brush and plait her hair, 
instead of Venus; and to fasten her gowns 
for her ; and to see his ties and sleeve-links 
lying about among the trifles on her little 

16 


242 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

dressing-table. How strange, how strange 
it all was and how sweet ! Her memory of 
Lilian became gradually as incomplete and 
shadowy as the impression left by an engrav- 
ing on the sheet of tissue-paper which covers 
it. Farrance had told her of his wife’s de- 
sire for their marriage, and she had learned 
to accept this simply ; to think with uncon- 
scious conventionality of Lilian as an angel, 
with a long white robe, white feather wings, 
bare feet, a little gold harp, and perhaps 
even a crown. For her the change from 
maidenhood to wifehood was so supreme, so 
entirely accomplished, that it absorbed other 
things and made them partake of its change 
with a certain fire-like quality. It seemed to 
her that her marriage must be in some subtle 
way different from other marriages, as her 
face was different from other faces — as, in- 
deed, all faces, all leaves, all existences, no 
matter how much alike, differ totally in some 
radical point. There had not been for her 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 243 

that sadness of the new-married maiden 
spoken of by the old poet. She had drifted 
on from river to bay, from bay to ocean, from 
ocean to mid-ocean, as calmly as a child who 
has fallen asleep in a boat. It was the very 
lack of love which made her husband’s man- 
ner to her so calm, so undisturbing, so free 
from the friction which sometimes drives 
girls to think with longing of the old child 
life, and makes of the first year of marriage 
a torture-chamber for man and wife. 

Their apartment on the Rue Delambre 
was complete, although very small, none of 
its rooms measuring more than twelve by 
thirteen feet. Of these there were three : a 
bed-chamber, a dining-room and a kind of 
antechamber from which the stairway led to 
Farrance’s atelier, and in which Venus slept 
on a pallet, with Tony beside her. 

It was all bright and gay with cheap chintz, 
picturesque bits of old furniture, and here 
and there a copper jug, a Moorish lantern, a 


244 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Persian gown. The pleasantest place in the 
house, however, was the studio, with its glare 
of light, scattered oil-tubes, painted cotton 
backgrounds, smell of turpentine, hot stove, 
fur and varnish. 

It was always the order of the day with 
Tony to climb the little stairway and wander 
about among this sticky and greasy confusion, 
which he found delightful, a source of infinite 
amusement to the models and unnoticed by 
his absorbed father. He would be rescued 
perhaps an hour after his ascent, his frock a 
stiff armor of siccatif de Coutray, his face 
one radiant smear of Prussian blue, and his 
brown, strong fingers gummed together with 
silver white, vermilion, ultramarine, yellow 
and charcoal fixatif. He had grown into a 
handsome gypsy, and his mingling of French 
and English slang, pronounced after a pe- 
culiar method of his own, was undoubtedly 
unique. He adored Jean and had a romantic 
feeling for his father, which consisted partly 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 245 

of a serious admiration, partly of terror, and 
partly of that strange, reserved pride which 
children often have in their parents and rel- 
ations. The models called him “ Tony 
Fleury,” and he would sit contentedly for a 
long while on a high stool before an easel, 
pretending to draw with a bit of charcoal on 
a scrap of paper, and using stale bread reck- 
lessly, as he saw his father do. In the even- 
ing, just after she had returned from her 
music, Jean would romp with him in and out 
oTthe three tiny rooms, dancing about with 
her head on one side and her violin under 
her chin, while Venus clapped and Tony 
pounded about to the jigs and breakdowns, 
convinced that he was executing a marvellous 
performance. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


As there is one topmost leaf on every tree, 
there is one day or year or period in every 
human life which marks the culminating point 
of that existence. With Jean this period 
was included in the first two months of her 
marriage. She had never been really happy 
before, but she cast herself into the gay sea 
of the present with all the confidence of a 
hen-hatched duckling that swims by instinct. 
None of the forebodings which so often visit 
people in the possession of unusual joy dis- 
turbed her. That she should have love and 
prosperity seemed to her a wise, natural, and 
unextraordinary fact, which claimed her grat- 
itude and best energies, but certainly not 
that doubtful awe with which it is generally 
received. As long as Farrance loved her, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 247 

no misfortune could touch her deeply, and 
she would have been quite as gay and joyous 
with their three rooms turned into one, with 
no Venus to help her with cooking and 
housework and the tending of Tony, with 
one gown to wear on week-days and Sun- 
days, with a bit of cold meat twice a week 
and soup three times a day. She loved him 
with that fervor which sometimes craves 
self-sacrifice as a vent, for it was impossible 
that she could manifest in looks, words, ca- 
resses, the great wave of adoration which 
went beating back and forth through her 
veins all day. 

One afternoon, when Farrance asked her 
to come up to his atelier for a moment, and 
then closed the door and stood before it, very 
pale, gazing at her, she knew with a great 
heart-surge that she hoped it was something, 
some disaster by which she could prove to 
him that he included in himself all that there 
was for her of joy and sorrow. 


248 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, coming up to 
him ; and as he did not answer, she slid both 
arms about his neck, and pressing close to 
him said : “If you love me, there’s nothing 
I mind — nothing, nothing, nothing ! ” 

“You dear child!” exclaimed Farrance, 
kissing her almost eagerly. Then he put 
his arms about her and led her to the model 
stand, where they sat down together. 

“ You see, it’s about money — your 
money ” he began, when Jean inter- 

rupted. 

“Oh! money ! ” she exclaimed. “Money! 
Mine ? Why, I don’t care a rap — pas 9a ! ” 
and she drew her little thumb-nail with a 
sharp click, from behind her pretty front 
teeth, as she had seen Maman Cici do. 

“You’ve never known what it is to be 
without it,” said Farrance, who could not 
help smiling. 

“No; that’s true,” she assented, pausing 
to look at him meditatively with her thumb 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 249 

still in the air. “ That’s very true,” she said 
again, sitting down by him. “ Well, what must 
we do ? Must we give up the apartment ? ” 

“ Ah, you see, we can’t,” answered Far- 
rance. “ The papers were all signed three 
months ago.” 

“We might sublet it,” she suggested, after 
a second or two. “But tell me — what do 
you think about it ? Is it all gone ? Oh, well, 
if it has, what difference ? I can give music 
lessons. My master said yesterday I could 
give lessons if I wanted to. Do you know, 
really, I sfhould love it — to work all day just 
as you do, and feel that I was being a real 
help.” 

“Never!” said Farrance. “You shall 
never give lessons ! ” 

“ But why ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s a dog’s life. There, child — don’t 
say anything like that again. It grates on 
my nerves ” 

“ We might as well talk it over, though,” 


250 A C CORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

persisted Jean, slowly. “ I’ve a sort of feeling 
— a sort ol presentiment that it’s got to come, 
and I don’t see why you mind so, Adrian. 
I think it’s what God meant — that men and 
women should help each other. I don’t mind 
the money’s going, but I do mind if you won’t 
let me help you.” 

“ Perhaps we can talk that over later,” an- 
swered Farrance. “ Now listen while I tell 
you all about it; ” and he then explained, as 
well as possible, all the intricacies of the case, 
but the one fact that remained clear to her 
out of the technical jargon was* that her 
$10,000 now belonged to someone else, who 
had more or less right to it, although why, 
she could not comprehend. 

“ It was no one’s fault,” Farrance assured 
her. “As far as anyone could see at the 
time it was as well and securely placed as 
possible ; but those things happen occasion- 
ally, and poor little Gill gets nipped along 
with Jack.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 25 1 

“ I wish you could look into my heart and 
see how utterly I don’t care about it,” said 
Jean. Again he kissed* her. “It’s because 
I love you so,” she whispered, while his lips 
were on hers. 

That night, about one o’clock, he spoke to 
her, but in a whisper, so that he might not 
wake her should she chance to be asleep. 
She answered at once: “Yes, let’s talk a 
little. I’ve been awake for so long.” 

“ Poor little soul ! And you wouldn’t 
speak on my account, I suppose ? ” 

“You were so worried. You see, I only . 
mind it for you.” 

“ But, child, with your quickness you 
must see that the loss of $10,000 means a 
great difference in our way of living, our 
habits, everything.” 

“ Yes, I know — it’s foolish. Take me on 
your arm and I’ll tell you just how I feel. 

It all seems as little to me in comparison 
to your love as that speck of light shining 


252 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

on the handle of the bureau there does in 
comparison to the bureau. I have tried to 
care more on Tony’s account, but when I rea- 
lize that I love you and that you are here with 
me I cannot mind it. Perhaps it will come 
later when we get very uncomfortable ” 

Farrance broke into a laugh. 

“ Don’t laugh,” objected Jean. u It’s hor- 
rid to be laughed at when you don’t mean to 
be funny, and I know very well that I’m 
idiotic about it — only I’ve seen so many poor 
people, and the poorer they got the happier 
they seemed to be, somehow. Look at the 
Bensons ; look at Ellen Ferguson. They 
were the poorest people in the pension, and 
lots the happiest. Besides, you know I 
believe that ‘ everything works together for 
good to those that love God ’ — that love 
God, mind you. I don’t say I believe that 
about everyone ” 

“ And about me ? ” suggested her hus- 
band. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


253 


“ Oh, you ! You love Him without know- 
ing it. I think there are more who are 
Christians without knowing it than who go 
by the name.’’ 

“ And what good do you think He will do 
by taking away your $10,000?” 

“ It has done me good already,” answered 
Jean. “ It has shown me that I love you 
even more than I thought I did, and that I 
am not afraid of poverty. But tell me, what 
were you going to say to me when you 
spoke ? ” 

“ Why, I had an idea for a picture, all of a 
sudden, and I thought if you would pose for 
me in the morning, from eight to twelve, that 
it might come to something.” 

“ Ah ! Good ! Splendid ! But who are 
you going to paint me as ? I haven’t any 
dress.” Then suddenly remembering : “ Oh, 
yes, I have ! the Parthenia dress — but I — I 
forgot,” she stopped, confused, her heart 
beating wildly over her mistake. 


254 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

It is these bits of jetsam and flotsam from 
the past which, washed in upon the shore of 
the present, sadden for us its blue waters 
and clear sand, and make us think of the 
bones whitening under the sea and of the 
fair ships that have gone down. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


The picture of Jean which Farrance wished 
to paint was quite simple. She stood in a 
gown of white serge on one side of a fire- 
place, the glow of which was reflected upon 
the heavy material from behind a Louis XV. 
screen of white and blue — a different white 
and a blue dull, faded, in harmony with the 
rich shadows and the russet of the girl’s hair. 
She supported her violin beneath her chin, 
and the hand which held the bow was half 
lifted, as if uncertain of the music it was to 
bring forth. Her expression was one of ex- 
pectancy, of hope, almost of radiance. The 
whole canvas was painted with the clear, 
candid color of an impressionist of the school 
of Manet, but in a lower key, as though one 


256 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

looked through a pearl - gray atmosphere 
which subdued without muddying the bril- 
liant tints. 

Unfortunately, just as he was beginning to 
feel somewhat encouraged with its progress, 
Farrance was seized with a fever then going 
the rounds of Paris. It was the beginning of 
March, and his nervous calculations in regard 
to the time he w^ould have between then and 
the ist of May served to increase the fever 
day by day. Jean was in despair. To add 
to this complication, and as if to verify the 
saying that “ troubles never come single,” 
his savings of the past six years were reduced 
to half by a sudden fall of stocks. They 
were obliged to have fire only in the sick 
man’s room, and for a week Jean, Venus, and 
Tony lived on potato soup. Unable to get 
scholars on such short notice, Jean had bor- 
rowed ioo francs from the Bensons to meet 
the immediate requirements of medicine and 
doctor’s fees. The bills had already been 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 257 

sent in twice, and a feeling of desperation 
had driven her out of doors with Venus one 
midday during the second week of March, 
having left Tony in the care of Mrs. Benson, 
whom he patronized with the grave assurance 
of childhood. 

They walked along quickly through the 
clear windy air, the negro girl keeping close 
to her mistress’s side and carrying the violin- 
case under one arm so that she might still 
thrust both hands into her beloved muff. 
From time to time Jean spoke to her in 
broken sentences : “ I must — I must, Vee — 
I must get it ! Where there’s a will there’s 
a way, you know.” 

“Lor’! Yease’m — sut’ny — I knows you 
gwine have luck, Miss Jean. Dee fire spit at 
me dis mawnin’ an’ I spit back at it good. 
Hit’s a shore sign luck’s cornin’.” 

“ I tell you what, Vee, let’s pray hard for 
two blocks. Someone might ask me to play 
at a concert.” 


17 


258 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Oh, dat sut’ny is a spry idea, Miss Jean. 
I gwine pray hard.” 

After walking for three blocks in silence 
Jean exclaimed, in a dry voice: “Nothing! 
Nothing ! Oh, dear God, please help me ! ” 

It was an “ occasion ” day at the Bon 
Marche. As they passed along the narrow 
sidewalk the crowd hustled them off upon 
the cobble-stones. There were thousands 
of women, shabby and bedizened, each with 
one or more paper parcels in her arms. 
Even the children carried interesting-look- 
ing little packages done up in brown paper. 

Venus broke the silence suddenly by say- 
ing, in a cheerful voice : “ I don’ care. I 
thanks dee Lawd I ain’ be’n bawn a hawse.” 

“But why? ” asked Jean, over her shoul- 
der. 

“ ’Caze I mought a be’n a cab hawse,” 
replied the negress, seriously. 

Jean laughed aloud, in spite of her trouble 
and anxiety. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 259 

“ Oh, what a comfort you are, Vee. 
What should I do without you ! ” she 
cried. 

In a little while they came to the Pont de 
la Concorde. They crossed it and the Place 
de la Concorde, and Jean stood for awhile 
under the shelter of the obelisk looking back 
at the wonderful scene. It was bitter cold. 
The sky dropped in a great curtain of old 
pink, cooling to gray, through the centre of 
which quivered the sun disk, like a plaque of 
rose-gold fire. The buildings on the other 
side of the Seine were vague, ethereal, out- 
lined in washes of violetish ash color against 
the dully glowing air beyond. The tritons 
and nymphs in the two bronze fountains were 
swathed in fold upon fold of green-white ice, 
from the gleaming wrinkles of which streamed 
delicate spray feathers. Above all soared 
the mist-blurred Eiffel tower, like the archi- 
tecture of a dream. Near Jean one woman 
was wheeling a wagon of pomegranates and 


26 o 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


another held a tray of violets and hyacinths 
suspended by straps from her shoulders. It 
suddenly occurred to Jean that she did not 
know where she was going. She turned 
abruptly and recrossed the Place, bending 
to meet the strong volume of wind which 
poured against her. An idea had come to 
her. “ I can pawn Aunt Hetty’s ring/’ she 
told herself, “ and then as soon as Adrian is 
well he can dash off some pot-boilers, and I 
can get it back again.” This was Jean’s idea 
of the facilities offered by the art of painting. 
Just as the thought crossed her mind, how- 
ever, she was attracted by some shadows re- 
flected on the curtain of a window near which 
they were passing. It was within a short 
distance of her own home, and the sign above 
showed a sadly painted stag with enormous 
gilt horns protruding from its strange fore- 
head. “ Au bon Cerf Dore ” was written 
underneath. 

Someone was whistling a popular air, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 26 1 

while the others danced about, laughing furi- 
ously. There were both men’s and women’s 
voices. Venus, who was taller than Jean, 
stood on tiptoe and peeped through a torn 
place in the cretonne curtain. 

“ What is it ! What are they doing ? ” 
asked her mistress. 

“ Dey jess projickin’,” replied Venus. 

“ Do they look decent ? Respectable ? ” 
pursued Jean, to whom another idea had 
presented itself. 

“ Yease’m, dey look right pleasine ! ” 

“ And do they keep on dancing? ” 

“ Yease’m — dey sut’ny is bent on cuttin’ 
shines ! ” 

“ Then come on, Vee, and be very quiet, 
and don’t even smile. I’m going to play for 
them to dance, if they’ll let me.” 

The girl who answered the bell of the 
concierge was tall, red-faced, voluminous of 
bust and hair. Her stays seemed as though 
they would give way beneath her sturdy 


262 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


pantings. She had evidently been one of 
the dancers. 

“ Qu’est-ce que c’est ? ” she asked, fixing 
upon Jean her round blue eyes, which, al- 
though good-natured, pierced through the 
rough texture of her flesh like the points of 
embroidery punchers. 

Jean answered calmly: “You seem to 
have no music. I have my violin with me. 
I play many waltzes, polkas, mazurkas — I 
need some money.” 

“ Oh ! money ! ” cried the girl. Then she 
called back over her shoulder : " I say — you, 
Jacques ! Come here ! Here’s someone 
with a fiddle who wants to play waltzes for 
money ! Shall we have her ? Hein ? As 
it’s my fete, perhaps ? ” 

“ What’s that you say ? ” demanded 
Jacques in the bubbling voice of a good- 
natured toper. He was strong and young, 
with a sunburnt face, a flat nose, a flat fore- 
head, a flat mouth, and eyes which one saw 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 2 63 

in a brown oblong between thick lids, as one 
sees a horse-chestnut between the sides 
of its half-opened burr. It was not a bad 
face, but animal, and rather dull. He ex- 
claimed on seeing Jean : “ Hi ! There’s a 
black one too, behind there.” 

“ So there is ! Perhaps they can really 
give us some fun ! What do you say ? ” 

“ I say bring them along, by all means ! ” 
The others were now crowding about the 
door. “Yes! Yes! Bring them along!” 
cried everyone. 

Jean found herself in a small, stuffy room, 
overpoweringly heated by a stove of cast 
iron, and ornamented by enlarged photo- 
graphs touched up with crayon. All the 
furniture, which seemed dingy and for the 
most part broken, had been pushed to one 
side. In the' middle of the room, covered 
with an oil-cloth, stood a large bowl of hot 
stuff, which sent up a steam, drenching the 
room with the smell of rum. There were four 


264 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

girls and three men, and a large woman of 
about forty, who sucked her grog through a 
straw, and occupied the only arm-chair in the 
room. Her face, larger and redder than the 
girl’s whose fete was being celebrated, had 
still the same contours, and her bluer eyes 
were also like points of metal. She regarded 
Jean solemnly for several minutes, still pull- 
ing away at her straw, and then, pushing it 
from between her lips with her tongue, wiped 
her large mouth on the back of one hand, 
which she drew in turn across her apron, and 
then demanded loudly : “ So you can play ? 
Well — play then ! ” 

“ But what ? ” asked Jean. 

“ Why, Christie ! Some jolly tune, to be 
sure ! Does the black girl play nothing ? 
Not even a triangle ? Well ! ” 

Venus has taken the violin from its 
case and was unwinding the silk handker- 
chief. 

Whoo ! How black she is ! ” exclaimed 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 265 

one of the young fellows, coming nearer. 
“ She’s so black she’s blue ! ” 

The others laughed at this sally. 

“ No sense, ijits ! ” observed Venus, glow- 
ering at them. She placed herself beside 
Jean in the attitude of defiance as the other 
began to play. 

After half an hour one of the girls ex- 
claimed : 

“ Say, won’t you have something to drink? 
What fun it would be to get Blackie tipsy ! 
Hein ? ” 

“ Good ! good ! ” shouted the others. 
“ Here, Blackie, here’s a glass for you ! ” 

“ I don’ wan’ none uh yo’ p’izen,” replied 
Venus, shoving away the offered glass with 
her elbow. 

“ Have a bock, then ? ” suggested one of 
the men. “ Would you like a bock, m’am- 
selle ? ” 

“ Lemme ’lone ! ” retorted the girl, who 
understood enough to grasp the gist of this 


2 66 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

remark. “ I’ll bock you ef you go on wid 
yo’ imper’ence.” 

“Sh! sh ! ” said Jean, warningly. The 
room was so hot that her forehead was damp 
with perspiration. It seemed to her that 
there were at least twenty people about her. 
She longed to have it over, but the others 
seemed bent on dancing. The more she 
played the more excited they seemed to 
grow — the fire ever increasing as the grog 
in the big bowl diminished. She had been 
playing for almost two hours, when the girl 
who had opened the door came toward her 
with five francs held out, exclaiming : 

“ There ! You’re finely paid — hein ? And 
here’s five sous for Blanchette ! ” Everyone 
roared at this, while one of the men came for- 
ward and, pinching the arm of Venus, shouted : 

“ I say ! What if I claim a kiss from the 
snowflake ! It ought to be a splendid one ! 
Her mouth is like a pincushion ? ” 

“ I prefer the little fiddler,” cried out an- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 2 67 

other. “ Look here, Suzette — you wouldn’t 
kiss me just now ! Here’s a prettier mouth, 
parbleu ! ” 

He flung his arm suddenly about Jean, and 
bent toward her, when crash went the violin 
upon his head, and Venus stood glaring 
about her with the broken instrument in her 
hand, her thick lips puffing in and out with 
fury, her small teeth set, her eyes red. The 
man who had been hit started back with a 
growl and the others closed in a ring about 
him. From a cut under his hair the blood 
was beginning to trickle. 

Jean saw all this with a flash, and her own 
cry was still sounding in her ears, when she 
found herself out in the twilight with Venus, 
hurrying along, the broken violin in her arms 
and the five-franc piece still in her hands. 

“ Run — run,” Venus was urging. “ Dey’ll be 
arter us ! Oh, cyarn’ you run some, honey ? ” 

So they went running until they came to 
the gardens of the Luxembourg. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Once in the gardens Jean sat down on a 
bench, and, laying the broken violin across 
her knees, pressed both hands against her 
face, while Venus, sobbing with rage and 
excitement, knelt beside her, pouring out, to 
the best of her ability, comfort, advice, affec- 
tion, sympathy. After awhile Jean put out 
one of her hands, which Venus seized, cov- 
ered with ravenous kisses, and carried to her 
breast. 

“ We kin git hit mended,” she kept on re- 
peating, but Jean shook her head. The 
violin was completely ruined, and she would 
have felt ashamed to confess the frenzy of 
grief which this roused in her. She could 
not have believed that one could love an 
inanimate thing so passionately. “ I sup- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 269 

pose,” she thought, “ it is the same feeling 
that men have for their country and their 
homes, or women for the bed where some- 
one they cared for has died, or their dead 
children’s shoes.” Tears began to roll 
through her fingers and drip upon the shat- 
tered violin. She felt utterly desolate and 
hopeless. Paris had never seemed to her at 
once so crowded and so lonely. It was with 
a start that she saw someone approaching 
her as if to speak. “Venus!” she ex- 
claimed, rousing the girl, who had finally 
hidden her face against her knee. But the 
man coming toward them had nothing in face 
or manner suggestive of impertinence. He 
spoke at once. 

“ I am a painter,” he said. “ You look in 
trouble. Would you care to pose for me ? 
I can pay you well. You can bring the 
black girl with you.” 

“Pose for you?” said Jean, and then 
pausing, blushed slightly. 


270 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“Just as you sit now, with that broken 
violin on your knees. I wanted just such a 
subject for an open-air study,” continued the 
stranger, quietly. “ You can pose in my 
atelier until it is warmer, as I like to make 
some careful drawings and compositions be- 
fore really setting to work.” He paused, 
and then, looking at her with a kind frown of 
conjecture, said: “You’re a Southerner, 
ain’t you ? ” 

“Yes. A Virginian,” answered Jean; 
“ and you ? ” 

She gazed up at him anxiously, her lips 
apart, and suddenly he smiled. 

“Then we must be some sort of cousins, 
at least,” he told her. “ I am from Richmond 
myself. I have only been here a year. My 
name is Nelson. I dare say yours is Page, or 
Cabell, or Carter ” 

“ It is ! it is ! ” cried the girl, delighted. 

“What! All three?” 

“ No — the last.” She gave a great sigh of 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 2jl 

relief and let her slight body sink back, re- 
laxed, against the hard back of the bench. 
“ Thank Heaven ! ” she said. “ It is all right ! 
I can pose for you. I will, I do need the 
money — what time would you like me to 
come ? ” 

“ Oh, any time after twelve. I am at 
Colarossi’s in the morning. Shall we say 
one ? ” 

“ One, then/’ repeated Jean, getting sud- 
denly to her feet. “ I can’t thank you — I 
haven’t any words.” 

" It's I who should thank you,” returned 
Nelson, courteous if banal. He lifted his hat 
as she turned to go, and then suddenly 
walked after her. “I rather think you’d 
better take my address,’ he suggested in 
his dry voice, which was somehow so very 
kind, holding out to her his card. Flushing 
and laughing she took it from him. 

“ You made me too happy — I forgot every- 
thing.” 


272 ICC OR DING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Well, don’t forget your appointment at 
one to-morrow. Good-night ! ” 

“ Good-night ! Good-night ! ” said the girl, 
her voice shaking a little. As he stood 
watching them it seemed to him that at last 
they began to run onward into the closing 
shadows. 

It was frightfully cold ; bonfires had been 
lighted here and there on the sidewalks and 
around them swarmed the wretches of the 
streets, holding out their shrivelled fingers 
to the saffron glare of light and heat. 

“ How wretched that child must have 
been,” thought Nelson. “ She was sitting 
there as quietly as though it had been an 
afternoon in May. But what an impression — 
if I can only keep it fresh.” So he walked 
on, going over his little adventure in imagi- 
nation, pondering the size of the canvas which 
he would use, wondering whether the middle 
of March would be too soon to begin paint- 
ing out of doors. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 2?3 

Jean, for her part, was radiant with joy 
and the victory of faith. 

“ Ah ! ” she stammered happily, as she and 
Venus ran on together; “I tell you, there’s 
nothing like praying, Vee, nothing. God 
always answers in one way or another. You 
must always remember that, Vee. You 
hear ? Now, let me see — I don’t really want 
the money for a month, and I’ll have a lot in 
that time. Say he gives me five francs an 
afternoon — that’s what real models get — 
that’ll be 138 — no — 148 francs. That’ll pay 
the chemists and another month will pay the 
Bensons, and another — oh Vee ! I’m so 
happy ! ” She decided, however, not to tell 
Farrance until it was all over. It might an- 
noy him and he might raise objections which 
she could not contest ; besides, it would be 
silly and wrong to disturb him at such a time. 
The least worry increased his fever, and 
to him the entire confidence roused in her 
by the fact of Nelson’s being a Virginian 

18 


274 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

might seem inadequate. “ He would tease 
and make jokes about F. F. V.’s,” she re- 
flected ; “and he would never let me go — 
but with Venus, of course, it’s all right. ,, 

So every afternoon, instead of going to 
her music-lesson she posed for Nelson. Her 
master, on hearing of the accident, had at r 
once lent her another violin, so that there 
was no possibility of any complication aris- 
ing on that score. She played for Tony to 
dance every evening as she had always done, 
and Farrance, as a convalescent, lay on the 
sofa in the small dining-room and laughed at 
the boy’s pretty antics. 

By the middle of February he was hard at 
work again, and in April the picture was fin- 
ished. 

“I’ll have a try at the Champ-de-Mars,” 
he told Jean. “ Parker and Ravillard tell 
me it’s going to be something stunning. 
Dark-red cloth on the wall and spaces be- 
tween each picture. Besides, a lot of the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 275 

tip-top men seem to be going there : Dagnan, 
Gervex, Courtois, Sargent, Puvis-de-Cha- 
vannes, and Carolus. Varnishing day will 
be something to see there, Jean. You must 
get a new frock. Here’s ioo I got for that 
study of a marsh. Make yourself as smart 
as the smartest. You’re to bring me luck, 
you know. Something young and fair with 
a ribbon at the waist. Say blue and white — 
but I leave it to you — only let your hat be 
large and don’t brush your hair too smooth.” 

On the morning of the varnishing day 
Jean appeared, round, white, slender as a 
willow twig stripped of its bark. Her gown 
of thin white crepon had a deep loose collar 
of turquoise blue. Her soft white hat held a 
wreath of crushed roses. Over her shoulder 
she twirled a sunshade of white silk, from 
the rough wooden handle of which broke a 
little knot of pear-blossoms. 

“ Maman Cici gave it to me,” she ex- 
plained. “ She is so wretched, poor old 


276 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

woman. I know you don’t like her, Adrian, 
but she has the best heart, and it is a darling 
parasol, isn’t it now, dear ? ” She was de- 
lighted with the admiration in her husband’s 
eyes, delighted with her pretty sunshade, 
delighted to feel herself charmingly dressed, 
and to know that wherever she might appear 
everyone would be sure to exclaim : “ Ah ! 
you might know she came from Paris by her 
gown and hat ! ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


They paused near the doorway of the 
first salon, enchanted with the view into the 
great airy room beyond, through which float- 
ed a light, blond and delicate, and upon 
whose sober walls the paintings glowed like 
varied blossoms, some vivid, rich, bizarre as 
orchids, some frailly lovely as pale wild flow- 
ers, some richly splendid as hyacinth clusters 
or the gold pateos of heartsease. 

Carolus had three of his best portraits ; 
there were some ravishing Dagnans ; Cour- 
tois and Gervex were certainly at their best. 

They walked slowly, admiring, disagree- 
ing, criticising, wondering. The rooms were 
not in the least crowded. All was fresh, 
cool, delicious. The women were like bou- 
quets in their new spring gowns and bon- 


2 78 A CCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

nets. A novel gown of pale gray attracted 
them — its capuchin hood was full of Parma 
violets. The woman who wore it, tall and 
of a distinguished thinness, had reddish hair 
and long brown eyes, which suggested to 
Farrance new methods of “ brushing.” She 
was standing against a study of yellow chrys- 
anthemums, her profile cutting sharply the 
bright mass. All the time impressions of 
this sort were forming and dissolving before 
them. 

“Well,” said Farrance at last, “my pict- 
ure isn’t in this room; are you tired, Jean, 
or shall we try the next ? ” • 

Jean was not at all tired; in fact, she was 
prettier than ever, with her color a little 
higher, and one of her ears a soft pink under 
the loose threads of her hair. 

“ It looks as though one of your rose- 
leaves had got caught in your curls,” said 
Farrance, teasing her ; and she pinched the 
other to make them both alike. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 279 

As they entered the next room a large 
painting by one of the “ big men ” absorbed 
them for ten to fifteen minutes, and then, as 
they turned about, an exclamation broke 
from them both at the same time. Opposite 
them, and on the line, hung a painting about 
four by six feet. An out-door effect, full of 
charm and atmosphere, and of that lovely 
austerity of early spring when the leaves, 
just opened, flutter like transparent butter- 
flies upon the network of twigs, without con- 
cealing them. On a bench a girl was sitting ; 
her hand had fallen at her side, a broken 
violin across her knees. In her eyes there 
was a look of despair and sorrow ; the 
piteous lips were parted. It might have 
been a dead baby that she was holding upon 
her lap. 

“ Jean ! ” said Farrance. 

She turned to him half frightened. 

“ That is you ! You posed for that pict- 
ure ! ” he exclaimed. 


280 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“Yes, I know,” she answered, hurriedly; 
“ come away where it is quieter and I’ll tell 
you all about it.” 

When she had explained things at some 
length, he said: “ You always had more 
pluck than any child I ever imagined, but you 
were quite right not to tell me — I should 
never have let you do it.” 

“ But you are not angry, Adrian.” 

“No, child; no, of course not — why 
should I be ? You did it for me — I’m not 
quite such a flat.” 

“ But you look so worried, Adrian.” 

“Yes; that’s because my study of you 
hasn’t turned up yet. It’ll probably be as 
hard to discover with the naked eye as a 
skylark.” 

His laugh hurt her, and the day seemed 
suddenly dreary and stupid. The people 
pushed against her. The pictures were un- 
interesting. They passed into one of the 
smaller rooms, then into another. On the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 28 1 

right wall of the third, and in an execrable 
light, hung Farrance’s picture undeniably 
“ skyed.” One of his friends happened to be 
looking at it as they came up. “ I say,” he 
exclaimed, brusquely, “ it’s an awful shame, 
old boy — there’s a lot of good stuff in this. 
We’ve held quite an indignation meeting 

this morning, and I heard X himself say 

he didn’t see how it had got so badly hung.” 

“ Oh, this is an off year with me,” re- 
turned Farrance, rather coldly. “ Nelson, 
a Virginia friend of my wife, has done a 
much better likeness of her in his ‘ Broken 
Violin.’ There were a lot of people around 
it as we came through the room.” 

“ Yes, I know. The swells have made 
quite a fuss over it. Ravillard says he 
thinks Nelson will make his reputation in a 
stroke. A Virginian, did you say ? I’ll go 
and tell Wilmer, he’s a Lynchburger, you 
know, and he’ll probably burst with pride.” 

Farrance and Jean remained where he had 


282 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


left them. Her throat ached sharply with 
the effort to repress her tears. 

“ I — feel — as — though — I had done it,” 
she said at last in a whisper. 

“ My dear girl, that is morbid. You 
didn’t make Nelson paint better than I, you 
know.” 

“ He does not paint better than you,” re- 
turned Jean, trembling. “ No one can think 
it — it’s all favoritism. They must see that 
yours is better.” 

“ But it isn’t, dear.” 

“ Don’t say so, Adrian, don’t — oh, I am 
so wretched ! I feel as though my heart 
were breaking! It is my fault! It is! It 
is ! I have done you a dreadful wrong, and 
it was all for your sake I did it — and now it 
has turned out so horribly ! ” 

“ Jean, darling,” said her husband, in his 
gentlest voice, “you’ve always been the 
most sensible as well as the pluckiest girl I 
ever knew, and what you are saying is the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 283 

most arrant nonsense. Forgive me, dearie, 
if I hurt you, but I really can’t have you 
talking such utter rubbish, and making your- 
self miserable over nothing — because it is 
nothing. What is one Salon more or less ? 
You and I know very well that I mean to 
succeed, if not this year, then next ; if not 
then, why, the year after ; but as for your 
having done me any wrong, it’s really too 
absurd.” 

The kinder were his voice and manner the 
more miserable Jean became. She tried to 
seem consoled by these strong and affection- 
ate words, and arranged her pretty lips in a 
smile that was anything but gay. Farrance, 
after awhile, grew too absorbed in his own 
disappointment to notice her expression, and 
they strolled back and forth in a kind of ab- 
sent-minded silence, surrounded by a happy 
clatter of voices, looking with unseeing eyes 
at the pictures. 

“ I am tired,” said Jean, suddenly, unable 


284 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

to bear it any longer. “ I think if you’ll put 
me in an omnibus, Adrian, I’ll go home.” 

“ Why, yes, dear,’’ he answered, with a 
readiness that was somehow like a rough 
hand on her heart. “ You won’t mind if I 
lunch here with Ravillard ? He has some- 
thing to talk over with me.’’ 

Jean found Tony making book-houses in 
the dining-room with Venus in open-mouthed 
sleep on the floor, her head supported on a 
copy of Dore’s Bible. The room was full of 
that dreary midday light which seems the 
concentration of everything prosaic and ma- 
terial in town life. The tapping of the chisels 
sounded irritatingly from the marble yard be- 
low, and in the street two hand-organs were 
making odious discord, one rattling out a 
staccato air from “ Orphee aux Enfers,” and 
the other wheezing solemnly “ The Watch 
on the Rhine.” 

“ Moi playin’ sogers,” observed Tony in 
his original mixture of French and English. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 285 

“ Moi go to make bonfVes — sogers have so 
colt.’’ 

“ Yes, darling/’ said Jean, from the table * 
“ splendid ! ” 

She had taken off her pretty new hat, 
and was sitting with her head in both 
hands, gazing at the red-and-white table- 
cloth. 

“ Mus’ hev kin’lin’,” said Tony, presently. 
“ Du papier, Jeanie, tu plait ? ” 

“ Oh, look for it yourself, dear,” replied 
Jean, vaguely. “ Look in the basket! ” 

“ Pas la — pas la — doo tout, Jeanie ! ” he 
called aggrievedly, in another minute. 

“ Well, you mustn’t bother Jeanie now, 
pet. Look for some ! Look everywhere ! 
That’s the way the real soldiers do.” 

This had a decided effect on Tony, who 
was busy trotting about for some time. 
Then he settled down serenely to his play 
again, and Jean was only roused ten minutes 
later by a sharp sound of tearing paper. 


286 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Oh, naughty Tony ! ” she exclaimed, 
starting up. “You mustn’t tear books. 
C’est tres mechant, 9a.” 

“ Pas mesant,” retorted Tony, swelling 
with the injustice of this remark. “ Pas a 
truly book. Moi trouve soo l’tapis.” 

Jean took the book and the sheets which 
he had torn out from his unwilling hands ; 
but he was too dignified to cry, and merely 
turned his back squarely upon her, swelling 
ever more and more, until he looked ab- 
surdly like the frog in the fable. 

Jean found that she did not recognize the 
book. It was bound in black morocco, and 
had a nickel-plated lock in which was a 
little key. Then she looked down at the 
crumpled pages in her hand, and saw that 
they were in Farrance’s handwriting. 

“ It must be some sort of a diary. But 
why does he lock it ? ” she thought, puzzled. 
“ He lets me open all his letters. I hope it 
isn’t very important. Let me see what 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 28/ 

Tony has torn out.” So she smoothed the 
pages and began to glance over them to see 
if they ran in order or if the child had got 
them mixed. 


/ 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


The first sentence that caught her eye 

ran as follows : “ this hideous feeling of 

disloyalty to dead and living. My whole 
life is one long hypocrisy ” 

She remembered afterward that the words 
seemed written in red ink — a streak as of 
blood across the gray page. All at once 
she stood to her full height, stretching out 
her hand as if for help. Her throat was 
very dry. Then she said aloud, speaking 
very slowly : “ He — mustn’t — know.” 

She took the torn pages in her hand and 
went over to Tony, kneeling down beside 
him and putting her arm about his angry 
shoulders. 

“ Jeanie is so sorry, Tony, dear. You 
can have the paper. It isn’t a truly book. 










































J I 














































% 





































“Moi Peur,” said Tony. — p. 289, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 289 

Suppose you tear it up. It’ll kindle better. 
And then you might shut the book again 
and make a door with it. It’s got a truly 
lock.” 

She pressed the book together and the 
spring snapped into place, then dropped the 
key behind the cupboard and watched the 
child, who, entirely good-humored again, be- 
gan to tear the pages she had given him into 
small bits. 

Suddenly she caught him to her, and hid- 
ing her face against the sturdy curve of his 
little body, sobbed violently for a few sec- 
onds, but without shedding tears. 

“ Moi peur,” said Tony, startled, pushing 
at her with both fists ; and she looked up 
and smiled and answered : 

“ But why, darling? Jeanie isn’t vexed.” 

Reassured, he returned to his delightful 
task of tearing. With each short, crisp sound 
Jean felt as though a bit of her heart were 
being added to the pile of ragged scraps on 
19 


290 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

the carpet, but she sat there until the last 
sheet had been destroyed. 

“ He’ll see the scraps and think Tony did 
it, and then lost the key, got frightened, and 
shut the book,” she thought. She saw that 
she had forgotten to take off her gloves, 
and began to unbutton them and pull them 
carefully from her hands by each finger-tip. 
“ I’m glad Venus is asleep,” she said to her- 
self while she was doing this. 

It occurred to her, after her gloves were 
carefully folded and placed beside her hat on 
the table, that she would like to pray ; so she 
went into the tiny bedroom and shut and 
locked the door. She did not kneel beside 
the bed, but took Tony’s little green wooden 
chair and went over to the window, where a 
pattern of spring sky appeared between the 
chimney-pots. Gazing up into this calm 
blue, she tried to say “ Our Father,” but 
found herself repeating : “ My whole life is 
one long hypocrisy.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 29 1 

Her memory seemed suddenly paralyzed, 
and she could not recall with her utmost 
effort what came after “ Hallowed be Thy 
name.” 

“ I don’t know what to do ! I don’t know 
what to do ! ” she said aloud. “ I can’t 
pray ! ” But she knelt on for perhaps half an 
hour, feeling a sort of consolation as of obe- 
dience in the mere fact of her physical posi- 
tion. 

“ I don’t feel rebellious or hard,” she 
murmured after awhile ; “ that is some- 

thing ! ” 

Then again : “ It’s very dreadful ! I don’t 
want to go to heaven ! I want to stop be- 
ing myself and go to sleep forever ! ” 

After another pause she heard her voice 
saying as though from a distance: “Nothing 
can make it right ! It was never anything ! 
He has pretended ! ” 

For a second time she sprang to her feet 
as though under a sudden blow or knife- 


292 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

thrust and stood staring wildly about her at 
each nook and corner of the little room. 

“ He has pretended it all ! He has pre- 
tended-pretended,” she repeated, her teeth 
chattering. “ He has pretended to kiss me 
— to love me — he has pretended to be my 
husband ! It has all been a sham — a sham ! 
It has all been one long hypocrisy ! ” 

Next another cry, still more terrible, broke 
from her : “ Lilian ! Lilian ! Help me ! I 
did not mean to do wrong ! ” 

Although her breast heaved up and down 
as if she had run up all six flights of stairs, it 
seemed to her that she would never be able 
to draw a full breath again. 

“ I am dying,” thought the poor child. 
“No one could bear it! It is killing me! 
Oh, thank God ! ” and she stood and waited 
for the unconsciousness of death to put her 
out of her anguish ; but instead of this her 
breathing got gradually calmer and her 
thoughts more collected. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 293 

“ I will go out,” she said, finally. “ I will 
go out into the air and walk.” 

She could not remember afterward where 
she went or whether she had walked all the 
time, but at twilight she found herself on the 
Pont d’Jena, leaning over the parapet and 
gazing into the swirl of heavy water below. 
A girl was leaning there, too — a creature 
with sodden, reckless eyes and beautiful 
dark-red hair hanging loose. From time to 
time she muttered something to herself. 
There was a mark as though from a whip 
across one of her brown cheeks. 

“ She- must have been pretty once,” 
thought Jean, gazing at her. “ She looks un- 
happy.” 

After awhile she touched the others arm 
softly and said : “ I am unhappy too — I wish 
I could help you.” 

The girl started and lifted her handsome 
upper lip as though to snarl, then paused 
suddenly and said: “ Tu m’embetes, tu 


294 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

sais ? ” but did not seem really provoked. 
Jean’s white little face was too unutterably 
wretched to rouse anger even in this girl of 
the people, and after a moment she muttered 
gruffly without turning her head, and while 
making a stabbing movement with her thumb 
downward over the parapet : “ Are you in 
for that too, hein ! ” 

“ I — I — did think of it,” answered Jean, 
faltering, “but not now. Are you?” 

“ Yes ! You’ve got it,” replied the other, 
curtly. 

“ And you don’t care about le bon Dieu ? ” 

“ Why do you say ‘ the good God ? ’ ” 
asked the girl, with a laugh. “ D’you think 
He’s really good, that God up there ? He 
is all-powerful and He — He has made a 
world like this ; and you find Him good ? 
That’s very droll, that idea. That’s always 
made me laugh ever since I was a tiny, tiny 
thing ! ” • 

“ I would be good if I kept you from 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 295 

drowning yourself, but you wouldn’t thank 
me,” said Jean. 

“ No, truly,” replied the other ; and then, 
after a pause : “ Do you know what I am 
waiting for ? I’m going to count ten boats, 
and then it’ll be dark and I’ll jump over. A 
good idea, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Horrible ! ” murmured Jean. 

They waited some time. Out of the green- 
gray twilight, over the gray-green water, 
another boat came gliding toward them, 
with its jewel - like lights of emerald and 
ruby. 

“ The third,” said the girl folding in an- 
other finger on her hand which lay on the 
parapet. 

“ Why did you tell me ? ” asked Jean, pres- 
ently. “ Don’t you know I could call a gen- 
darme and stop you ? ” 

“ Yes — but you won’t.” 

“ And why ? ” 

“ You know too well what it is to want to 


296 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

kill yourself. You’re a kind heart. One 
must tell sometimes — besides, I feel that you 
will say a prayer for me.” 

“ To a God you don’t think is good ?” 

“ Oh ! 9a m’est egal ! He’s a God all the 
same ! He likes to be prayed to ! He’s a 
great one for flattery, that God of yours ! ” 

“ You mustn’t ! You mustn’t!” said Jean, 
trembling. “ It’s too terrible ! ” 

“As you like,” replied the other with a 
shrug. There was again silence. Jean 
broke it. 

“You have been very, very unhappy.” 
she said, falteringly. 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ But there is someone who — who really 
loves you ? ’’ 

“ My lover loved me, but my brother killed 
him. I was an honest girl save for Pierre. 
And you ? ” 

“ I love mine and he does not love me. 
That is worse.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 297 

“ Yes — it’s all bad. But then you’re hon- 
est.” 

u How do you know ? ” said Jean. 

“ One sees it in your eyes. You’re only 
a baby. But how can you say * le bon Dieu ’ 
when it’s like that with you ? ” 

“ Because I feel it’s all right, though it 
doesn’t seem to be. Sometimes I’ve thought 
it’s something like this : suppose you had 
two pet birds that you loved very much, and 
one hurt itself and had to be hurt still more 
before it could be cured. How cruel they 
would both think you, And yet you would 
be doing it for the best.” 

“ C’est vrai ! ” admitted the girl ; but 
added, after a moment, “ if you were all- 
powerful, though, you wouldn’t let your 
birds get hurt in the first place, would you ? ” 
“ But if suffering makes them better ? ” 

“ Ah ! one is always good enough in one’s 
own opinion to deserve luck.” 

“ But look — it hurts a baby terribly to cut 


29 s 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


its teeth, and yet how much better it is to 
eat almonds and pomegranates and oranges 
than milk.” 

The girl grimaced, showing her own fierce 
little teeth. 

“ Not many of the people I know get those 
things to eat, whether they have teeth or 
not,” she remarked. 

“ I put it badly,” replied Jean. “ I should 
have said that good strong meat is better 
than milk.” 

“Eh, Jesus! What is this 'good strong 
meat ’ of yours ? Is it when your brother 
thumps you from the door with a broken 
chair leg, and your mother curses you from 
the bed where you’ve nursed her for twelve 
years ? Ha ! ha! Tu est bien drole, minette, 
avec ton ‘ bon Dieu et ta ‘ bonne viande ! ’ ” 

“ Does no one love you, then ? ” said Jean, 
presently. 

“ Not a cat ! There’s the fourth ! Six to 
come yet.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 299 

" Suppose someone loved you ? Would 
you care then ? ” 

“ But that’s absurd,” rejoined the other, in- 
differently. 

“ No, no,” said Jean. “ I will ! I will in- 
deed ! It’s chilly here ! Come with me — I 
will give you a good, warm dinner. Look ! 
Here is money ! I made it myself ! There 
is plenty ! Come where it is warm and 
bright ! Will you let me kiss you ? ” 

The girl stared at her for a moment, half 
tenderly, and then murmured : “ Elle est folle, 
la pauvrette.” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Jean, eagerly. “ No, I 
am not ! I will give you this ! I will take 
you to a safe place for the night ! Come away 
from the river ! Come ! It tempts me, too ! 
Oh, it does ! it does ! Let us help each 
other. Let us be good to each other. I will 
be your friend.” 

“ The fifth,” whispered the girl, absently. 
She looked curiously down at the hand which 


300 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Jean had taken and was holding in both her 
own. “But, really, you are crazy!’’ she re- 
peated, finally ; then added, in a brusque tone : 
“ Et le bebe? Qu’est-ce-que tu va faire 
du bebe ? Tu va nous aimer, tous les deux ! ” 
She began again her harsh laugh, but Jean 
pressed her hand over the brutally pretty 
mouth. 

“ Don’t, don’t ! ” she whispered, “ it’s terri- 
ble ! I tell you I know how you suffer ! But 
it’s worse — worse what you are going to 
do!” 

“ The mud at the bottom there doesn’t suf- 
fer.” 

“You are not mud ! When you sleep, you 
dream. One suffers in dreams. To dream 
awful things forever — that would be worse.” 

“ That would be hell,” said the other, 
slowly. “ What ideas you do have. Here’s 
another. The sixth, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, that would be worse, worse, worse,’' 
went on Jean. “ I have thought of it all the 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 301 

afternoon. I was thinking of it when I spoke 
to you at first — of finishing it all, I mean. 
But then — unless one gives up one’s life 

for someone else — perhaps then ” she 

paused. 

“ Ah, bah ! On a cold night one is better 
in bed than out. One is snug in one’s grave.” 

u You will not have a grave.” 

“What do you want? It’s my way of 
talking.” 

“ But you would wish to be good ? ” 

“ Oh, that ! I don’t know, I’m sure.” 

Jean struck her hands together on the 
stone parapet with a gesture of agony. 

“ Oh, God, God ! ” she said in English. 
“ Do you hear ? And won’t you let me save 
her?” 

The girl was drumming with the fingers 
of one hand against her cheek as it rested 
on her palm. 

“ Isn’t it queer,” she asked, with a curi- 
ous, dull dreaminess, “to think that in a 


302 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

half hour, perhaps, I’ll be down there ? But 
it’s the morgue above all that seems dread- 
ful to me. I tell you frankly that gives me 
the creeps/’ 

“Look,” said Jean, circling her with her 
slight arm, “ come with me only for to-night. 
Sleep warm, just for to-night The river is 
always here. It is so much to me.” Her 
voice trembled. “ Ma sceur,” she whispered, 
and pressed her lips to the other’s temple. 
The girl put up her hand wonderingly, as 
though Jean had struck her rather than 
kissed her. 

“ Mais comme tu est bizarre ! ” she ex- 
claimed at length. “Are you really — do 
you really — but I don’t understand. Are 

you really troubled because, because ” 

She stood staring, her lips parted, her hard 
gray eyes on Jean’s. “ V’la ! ” she ex- 
claimed, finally. “ II me reste toute ma vie 
pour me tuer, et tu a ete bien bonne pour 
moi, ma p’tite follette. Allons ! ” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 303 

She drew Jean’s arm through hers and 
they turned away together. 

“ Wine will taste nice, and some of your 
good meat, hein ? I haven’t stuck my teeth 
through anything harder than a gaufre since 
yesterday.” She looked over her shoulder 
at another boat which suddenly emerged 
from the thickening web of gloom. 

“ The seventh ! ” she said, mockingly. 
“ It’s the magic number. Au revoir, little 
fly. You haven’t stung me this time. Till 
to-morrow, and thanks ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


It was still bright when Jean and the girl 
entered the cafe near the Gare de Montpar- 
nasse. They sat down at a little table apart, 
and a waiter came to take their orders. 

“Now, what shall we have, hein?” said 
the girl, grinning. “ I should like to order 
all on the carte — me ! ” 

“ Order all that you wish,” returned Jean, 
eagerly. “ And would you — would you like 
some champagne ? ” 

“Would I not — eh? You just try me ! 
We’ll drink to good old death together. I’ve 
always heard that folks died better on a full 
stomach. I saw a man guillotined once. 
Ugh, but wasn’t it exciting ! My poor Pierre 
took me. How plucky he was, that man ! 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 305 

He had murdered two little children. We 
girls sang to the Boulanger tune : 

“ ‘ C’est Marreau 
Qu’il nous faut ! 9 

And the boys shouted : 

“ ‘C’est ta tete qu’il nous faut. 

O ! O ! O ! O ! O ! O ! ’ 

How they did yell ; and Pierre had a splen- 
did voice. My poor Pierrot ! Ah, my dog 
of a brother ! But what did I begin to say ? 
Oh, yes — about Marreau. They said he ate 
enough for four men an hour before his head 
was chopped off. And wasn’t he plucky, 
though ? Hadn’t he grit ? Let’s drink to his 
health, too — eh ? ” 

“ No — no,” said Jean, deathly pale. “ You 
make me ill.” 

“ Ah, well ! What shall we talk of ? Gilt 
prayer-books and sugar-plum angels ? I say ! 
I’m a funny sister for you to have picked up, 
p’tite ! ” 


20 


30 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ It isn’t your fault,” murmured Jean, mak- 
ing a shadow ’over her face with her joined 
finger-tips. 

“No, that’s true. Nothing’s a virtue or a 
fault of our own. It’s the way we’re born. 
I might have been you, and you me, you 
know, and your lover my Pierre — ha, ha ! 
Well, it’s a droll life. And to think of my 
drinking champagne after all these years ! ” 

The gar£on here came up with a frothing 
bottle of that wine in his hand. 

“ A full glass, mind, and a drop for the 
table,” cried the girl, and laughed boister- 
ously as the champagne foamed over on the 
soiled cloth. Then she gulped it greedily 
down her throat, making a delightful chuck- 
ling the while. “ Ha ! I tell you that’s the 
stuff,” she announced, gayly. “ It stings as 
sweetly as a lover’s kiss. Look here ; do 
you know you’re a first-rate baby ? ” 

Jean said nothing. The girl horrified her 
more every instant, but she kept saying to 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 30 7 

herself : “ We are all women — all sisters — 
the good and the bad. I must save her — I 
must — I must ! ” 

And then she began to wonder where 
Farrance was and what he would say if he 
saw her now — and whether he would care. 
And all at once something seemed bursting 
in her throat and she felt all through soul 
and body a surge of conviction : “ Oh, he 
does care ! he does care ! He must ! I 
love him so ! ” But the next moment those 
words began to beat their hard measure up- 
on her mental ear : “ My life is one long 
hypocrisy.” 

“ Say ! Don’t you take any ? ” called the 
girl, leaning toward her with the tilted cham- 
pagne bottle in her hand. 

“No — no, thanks,” said Jean, timidly; 
“ that is, if you don’t mind.” 

“ Mind ! I should say not ! I’m up to 
two of these bottles ! ” 

After a little while, however, she settled 


308 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

down to her dinner, and Jean heard her 
crunching and purring over the chicken 
bones like a hungry and comfortable cat. 
She could not tell how it was, but a deadly 
drowsiness seemed settling over her. Just 
outside she could see a street-lamp which 
had been lighted a moment ago and which 
was flaring about in the wind that penetrated 
the cracked glass of its shade. She fixed her 
eyes upon it until her lids refused to stay 
open and a soundless darkness enveloped her. 

When the girl had finished her hearty 
meal and emptied the bottle of champagne 
she leaned back in her chair with a great 
sigh of pleased repletion, and fixed her eyes 
on Jean. The child’s fair head had fallen 
back against a column near which their 
table was placed — her bonnet of black velvet 
was crushed behind it. Her face looked a 
strange, glittering white in the electric 
glare. In her lap her hands, half uncurled, 
rested palm upward in a touching pose of 



Her Fair Head had Fallen Back against a Column.— p. 508, 



ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 309 

weary abandonment. The little face, so pit- 
eous, so lovely, stirred some chord of good 
in the girl’s brutal nature. 

41 I’d stake my life she’s a good little doll,” 
she said, under her breath. “ If she is cra- 
zy, it’s a good kind of craziness. I say ” 

she broke off suddenly with a hang-dog 
glance about, “ I’m blessed if I shouldn’t 
like to give her a kiss before I go.” There 
was no one else in the cafe. The waiter was 
busy with his dishes behind a screen at the 
other end of the room. She rose, and tip- 
ping awkwardly to Jean’s side, just touched 
with her coarse lips the pure forehead. 
Jean stirred, murmured something in her 
sleep. When she had roused fully the girl 
was gone, and on her plate lay heaped the 
bones which she had stripped clean with her 
sharp teeth. 

Jean’s first impulse was to rush after her, 
but she stopped at the door, realizing the 
utter hopelessness of such a search. 


310 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

“ I did try — I did try,” she whispered, 
heart-brokenly. “ Poor thing ! Well, at 
any rate, she’s had a good dinner. Oh, 
God ! be with her ! Help her ! Save her ! 
for Christ’s sake ! Oh, this horrible, hor- 
rible city ! ” She then paid the gar^on and 
told him to call her a cab, thinking, with a 
mechanical sense of duty : “ I must go back 
— Adrian will be worried.” 

She reached the apartment to find Venus 
busily arranging the dinner-table. 

“You all sut’ny is be’n stay late!” was 
the greeting; “but, lor’! whar’s Masse 
Adr’an ? Ain’ he wid you ? ” 

“ No,” said Jean, sinking into a chair near 
the door ; “ he’s with some friends.” She 
trembled and was afraid that she would 
break down from sheer relief at finding that 
her husband had not come back. She 
would have a little more time to try to com- 
pose herself and seem natural. 

Venus stopped in her preparations long 




She Lay there for Half an Hour without Speaking. — p. 311, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 3 1 1 

enough to take off her mistress’ boots, 
bring her her dressing-gown, and make her 
! comfortable upon the sofa. She lay there 
i half an hour without speaking, then roused 
to say : “ Who knocked at * the door just 
now, Venus ? ” 

“’Twas a man wid a letter,” answered 
the girl, and handed her a brief note from 
Farrance. 

“ Dearest Jean : I’m so sorry, but Ravil- 
lard and Wilmer tormented me to go to 
Meudon for dinner. I had to go or seem 
sulky. I know you’ll understand. Don’t 
you dare bother your dear little head over 
my unlucky picture. 

“ Lovingly, A.” 

Jean noticed things in this note which she 
would never have thought of noticing before. 

“ He would have said ‘my darling’ to — to 
her,” she reflected; “and he would have 
written out his whole name.” 


312 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


Aloud she said : “Yes, Vee! It's all right ; 
go on and have dinner. Mr. Farrance is not 
coming home. But I don’t want any, I’m too 
tired — and don’t bother me about it,” as she 
saw the other approaching with protest in 
her face. 

“ Well, ef you’s sick to-night ’tain’ my 
fault,” observed Venus, self-righteously. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Farrance did not come home until, about 
twelve o’clock, and thinking Jean asleep, lay 
down very quietly beside her, afraid even to 
kiss her lest she should wake. 

In an agony she thought : “ He does not 
kiss me because he knows I won’t mind if I’m 
asleep. It’s only when I’m awake that he 
has to act. Oh, my own God ! Let me die 
— let me die ! ” 

She buried her face in the pillow, clutching 
it with teeth and hands, hearing the blood 
foam in her head, sickened by the heavy 
beating of her heart. The night seemed like 
an endless chain whose links were hideous 
dreams, each one more awful than the last — 
some fantastic, grotesque ; others sombre, 
blood-curdling. Now she was in a catalepsy 


314 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

and Farrance thought her dead, and stood 
over her and smiled at Venus and said: 
“ Her hair’ll make a lot of just the sort of 
paint-brushes I want. Cut it off quite even, 
will you ? ” Then he was altering her clothes 
for Lilian, who had somehow come to life 
again, sitting at the machine himself and 
singing: “Rat-tat-ton. Pit-a-pat-a-pon. ,, 

Then she thought that she was standing 
again by the river, and that she jumped in 
and was drowned. And at the bottom she 
found the French girl sitting with her lover 
among a crowd of skeletons who were mak- 
ing paper roses. She remembered wonder- 
ing why these flowers did not melt in the 
water, and she was so tired that she wanted 
to sit down by the girl, who pushed her away, 
crying : c< Go off by yourself! It’s bad enough 
here without mixing up with people whose 
lovers don’t love ’em.” She woke with a 
gasping cry, horrified, trembling ; but Far- 
rance slept calmly on, and she lay there 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 3 1 5 

counting his regular, long-drawn breaths 
until daybreak. 

When it was six she got up, and slipping 
on her dressing - gown, went into the next 
room. She did not want anything particu- 
larly, and sat looking vaguely about her. 
Her one idea was to get away from her hus- 
band. She made his life a horrible sham — ■ 
a long hypocrisy. She must keep out of his 
way as much as possible. Then she caught 
sight of the big Bible of which Venus had 
made a pillow yesterday. She sat staring 
curiously at it a little while, and then went 
and sat down on the floor beside it, and be- 
gan slowly to turn over its leaves. 

“ How crooked and ugly he had made 
Adam and Eve ! ” was her first thought. “ I 
believe I could draw better than that ! ” 

She went on and on. The livid skies 
and weird landscapes fascinated her. They 
were like pictured continuations of her own 
bad dreams. Presently she came to the New 


31 6 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Testament. A great longing welled up in 
her breast. 

“ O Jesus ! send me some word, let me 
find some word/’ she said, brokenly, cover- 
ing her face with one hand and leaning the 
other on the open book. She seemed to be 
touching a friend in those great, smooth 
pages, and knelt so for a little while, feeling 
soothed and comforted. Then she turned a 
page or two and her eyes fell on the words : 
“ For He is not a God of the dead, but of 
the living ; for all live unto Him.” 

Half thrilled, half frightened, faintly com- 
forted for a heart-beat she closed the book 
and got to her feet. 

“ I will try to bear it,” she said aloud, and 
then, terrified by the sound of her own voice, 
stood still and began to tremble. 

Re-entering the bedroom on tiptoe, she 
got her clothes and dressed hurriedly. As 
she fastened her bodice with nervous fingers, 
one of the trite but sound sayings of her Aunt 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 3 1 7 

Hetty came back to her : “ When you’re 
unhappy, honey, just you go and try to 
make somebody else ez happy ez you 
ken.” 

“ Poor Maman Cici,” thought the girl, 
with a gush of hot tears that did not fall, “ I 
haven’t seen her for ten days. I’ll go there 
now. She wakes early too.” So she was 
soon knocking at Maman Cici’s door. 

Folded in the same gray-and-purple dress- 
ing-gown, the woman sat over her little stove 
with a cup of black coffee smoking at her 
elbow. 

“ Ah ! Ma cherie ! Is it you ? Surely 
Heaven sent you. But I have passed a night. 
It was terrible ! Such dreams ! ” 

“ And I too,” said Jean. 

“You too, my poor darling. But what 
have you to dream bad dreams of? ” She 
took the girl’s cold little hand and patted it 
affectionately. 

Jean stood quiet for a moment or two, and 


3 18 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

then falling on her knees beside the woman, 
cast both arms about her huge body. 

“ Oh, Maman Cici ! Oh, Maman Cici ! 
My heart is broken ! I am wretched, 
wretched ! ” 

“ Oh ! la-la ! ” cried Maman Cici, with her 
invariable ejaculation for all occasions, whe- 
ther grave or gay. “ What’s the matter, ma 
belle ? ” 

“You must not ask; I cannot tell you. 
Have you ever wanted to kill yourself, Ma- 
man Cici ? ” 

“ But often,” replied the other, fervently. 
“If I had not had one good, true, unfailing 
little friend — and not you either, mon ange ” 
— with a dry laugh, “pouf! — I’d have had 
my brains spoiling my pretty carpet here long 
ago.” 

“ But you are my friend, and good and 
true, and that doesn’t keep me from wanting 
to kill myself,” said Jean, with dreary candor. 

“ Ah ! child ! Why play with you ? I 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 319 

won’t ! Look here — this is what has kept 
me from the madhouse ! ” She whipped out 
a little glass cylinder, encased in nickel plat- 
ing, and laid it in Jean’s hand. “ Do you 
know what that is — eh, jewel ? ” 

Jean regarded it with curiosity, moving it 
about on her palm with the forefinger of her 
other hand. 

“ Well, of course you swear never to tell ? ” 
“ No, never ! ” assented the girl. 

“ It’s a needle for morphine ! ” whispered 
Maman Cici, her face one pucker of malicious 
delight. “ With that one need never suffer 
from the heartache, and if one takes too much 
some day by accident, tant mieux. I tell you, 
petite, I have never, never loved my Auguste 
as I love that little darling you’ve got there 
in your hand.” 

“ But it gives one horrible dreams, doesn’t 
it ? ” said Jean, awestruck ; “ and — and it’s 
wrong, isn’t it — like drinking ? ” 

“ £a m’est profondement egal,” announced 


320 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

Maman Cici placidly, taking it with fondling 
movements between her own fat fingers. 
“ The whole of life’s wrong, as far as I can 
make out, and I don’t harm anyone but my- 
self, that’s sure.” 

Jean sat gazing into the fire for some min- 
utes. “ So you’re happy, then ? ” she asked 
after a while, as Maman Cici sipped her cof- 
fee, rolling the little needle about in the hol- 
low of her lap by trotting her round knees, 
as though it had been a baby and she were 
soothing it to sleep. 

“ Yes — always, more or less.” 

“ And you take how much at a time ? ” 

“Ten drops now — it used to be four at 
first ; then five, and so on. It gets more 
and more all the time — and, oh ! the heaven- 
ly dreams I have of Auguste.” 

She turned on Jean her dull eyes, which 
looked like bits of blue glass that one had 
just breathed on, and in which the pupils 
were two mere specks of jet. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 32 1 

“ Look here, little one,” she said, sudden- 
ly, “ perhaps I oughtn’t, but just for once — 
it couldn’t- do you any harm — why don’t you 
take — say three drops ? ” 

Jean started back. 

“ No ! Never ! ” she cried, horrified. It 
seemed to her the most cowardly thing on 
earth. She was as profoundly sorry for the 
good-hearted old wretch as ever, but this 
was far worse than the drinking had been, 
and her last atom of respect was gone. 
“Never! Never! Never!” she repeated 
with energy ; and then, to appease her, as 
she saw an angry look gathering in the dim 
eyes : u Perhaps some day, when I am in 
great pain, but not now ; I have a great deal 
to do to-day. It might make me sick the 
first time.” 

“ C’est vrai ! C’est vrai ! ” murmured the 
other, pacified. “ And now you are going 
to read to me a little, cherie ? I’ve a new 
book here — a love ! Look ! ” and she tossed 


21 


322 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

a yellow volume to Jean, chuckling" fatly. 
The girl turned a page or two and saw that 
it was a romance in which Ninon de l’Enclos 
figured as the heroine. 

“Ah! What a woman!” sighed Maman 
Cici. “ She could have made that rascal 
Auguste walk a chalk-line for all her age ; 
eh, beauty ? ” 

Jean read on like a machine for half an 
hour, sickened, revolted ; then, in a moment 
could not bear it any longer, and started to 
her feet, exclaiming : “ I must go ! It is 
late. Dear me ! I had quite forgotten.” 

But Maman Cici stopped her. 

“Here! Look, child! You haven’t told 
me a thing about this misery of yours. What 
is it, now ? I’m like the very grave for se- 
crets ; and you know how I can sympathize 
if it’s an affair of the heart. Dis done, pe- 
tite, is it that ? Say, is it that scamp of a 
widower ? ” 

Jean, her face ghastly, broke from her. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


323 


“ Hush ! hush ! ” she said, lifting her hands 
to her ears; “it’s not at all as you think — 
not at all ; and I must go — now, at once ! ” 
She rushed out into the fresh morning air, 
her whole being in a whirl of angry disgust. 
“ He is right,” she thought, as she hurried 
along. “ She is terrible, that poor old wom- 
an. O my God ! my God ! Where can I 
go ? Whom can I turn to ? ” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


On her way home she bought a large 
nosegay of daffodils and a little basket of 
strawberries. She must have some excuse 
for her early walk, and a vague sense of 
comfort floated up to her with the familiar 
scent of fruit and flowers. 

Farrance was dressed and reading the 
Temps when she entered. His manner was 
particularly bright and cheerful, as he had 
determined to keep her from brooding over 
the failure of his portrait. She, on the other 
side, smiled gayly, and offered her cheek for 
his kisses, though her feet contracted in her 
little shoes with the effort. She made a 
pretty game of guessing with him, putting 
the strawberries and daffodils behind her, 
and telling him to choose which hand she 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 


325 


should offer to him. All this time he was 
regarding her intently under the cover of 
their nonsense. Her pallor and the purplish 
streaks under her eyes startled him. 

“ Look here, dearie,” he said, suddenly, 
“ you need some diversion. Suppose we 
go to see ‘ Le Mariage de Barillon 9 this 
evening ? They say it is very amusing.” 

“ Well,” assented Jean, at a loss for any 
reasonable excuse. 

Farrance came and took her into his arms 
with a quick movement. She shuddered 
convulsively and her head fell forward 
against his breast. 

“Jean! What’s the matter?” he cried. 
“ Are you ill? Do speak to me, child. You 
terrify me.” 

“Nothing — nothing,” she said, at last. 
“ It’s my head, I think. I have such a roar- 
ing in my ears.” 

“Ah, then, perhaps it’s only the spring 
weather,” he suggested, much relieved. 


326 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ Here, I’ll make you a glass of lemonade 
without any sugar before you take your 
breakfast. There’s nothing better.” 

“Yes, thank you! Thank you, Adrian,” 
murmured Jean, vaguely. She sank into the 
chair he drew forward for her, and sat with 
closed eyes until he put the glass of lemon- 
ade in her hands. He stood by, still holding 
the spoon, until she had drunk the last drop. 

“ There ! You’ll feel better after your tea 
now, I’m sure. But you’re very pale, sweet- 
heart.” 

Again she closed her eyes, and that rip- 
pling shiver ran over her. The very sound 
of his voice was anguish to her. It seemed 
to her that she must cry aloud with this un- 
utterable fierce pain, or else swoon away. 
Her mind seemed failing her. She felt, with 
a great sense of nausea, that she did not 
know where or who she was. 

“ Oh, hold me ! ” she cried, as she thought 
in a loud voice, and then she felt her hus- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 3 2 7 

band bending anxiously over her and say- 
ing: 

“What, Jean? You spoke so low I didn’t 
hear you, darling.” 

“ Oh, yes,” she murmured, staring about 
her. V I — I meant, thank you. It was very 
nice. I think it will help me.” 

“ Well, come and lie down now, darling. 
You really don’t know how ill you look.” 

“Thank you! You — you are so good.” 
Her lips began to quiver. “ I’m so foolish 
this morning,” she said, huskily, and pre- 
tending to clear her throat. 

“ Jeanie malat ? ” inquired Tony, pattering 
up to peer pitifully into her face. “ Poor 
Jeanie ! Tres malat,” he then remarked. 
“ Tony fasse ! ” (fache). 

Here Farrance gave him a kind turnabout 
by both shoulders in the direction of his 
playthings, saying, gently : 

“ Run along with you, little man, Jeanie 
wants to go to sleep.” 


328 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

Somehow he had never felt so tenderly to 
her. He would have liked to take her up in 
his arms like a child and soothe and talk to 
her. 

“ Darling, that little pale face of yours 
breaks my heart,” he said presently, and 
was shocked inexpressibly to see Jean throw 
herself back on the sofa and burst into peal 
after peal of laughter. 

“ Oh, I shall die ! I shall die ! ” she kept 
exclaiming between each paroxysm. “ Oh, 
forgive me, Adrian ! I can’t help it ! I 
really can’t ! ” 

He was hurt and embarrassed, and rose, 
saying that he would go and get the tickets 
for “ Le Mariage de Barillon.” 

“Yes — yes — that is much the best,” she 
murmured. “ I’ll be all right when you 
come back. It’s so kind of you to think of 
it.” And then, as he went down-stairs he 
heard her light, staccato peals of laughter 
following him. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 329 

Venus was much frightened as her mis- 
tress clung to her, saying, in sobbing 
breaths : “ I can’t stop ! I can’t stop ! Oh, 
give me something to make me stop, Vee ! ” 

The black girl brought her a glass of cold 
water and a Bible, as the best consolations 
at her disposal, and after swallowing the 
whole glassful, Jean leaned on one elbow 
and began to turn the leaves of the New 
Testament slowly, carefully, as though 
searching for something. Presently she 
said to Venus : “ You go and amuse Tony, 
Vee. I want to be very quiet.” 

Left to herself, she began at the Gospel 
of St. Matthew to turn carefully each leaf. 
After she had searched in this way to the 
sixth chapter of St. Luke she let herself drop 
wearily back upon the cushion and sighed as 
though her heart were bursting. 

“ Oh, how I wish our Lord had said more 
about love and marriage,” she thought. 
“ They bring more paj& and bewilderment 


330 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

than anything in life, and they are the only 
things He hasn’t really told us about. How 
can I know what to do ? Who is to tell me ? 
It isn’t right — it can’t be right for me to go 
on making his life ‘ a long hypocrisy.’ But 
oh ! dear Saviour — what am I to do ? what 
am I to do? Guide me! Show me! I 
can’t live in this way. Each second is 
agony. I should make him more miserable 
than ever. Oh, just to think that there is 
no one but poor Venus in all the world who 
truly loves me, and she will marry some day 
and won’t need me. There must be some- 
thing to do. There must be some words 
here that will give me light. O my God ! 
my God! my God! You must help me! 
You have promised ! You must keep your 
word ! ” 

She went on with her slow, painful search, 
until she reached the first of those four won- 
derful chapters of St. John, beginning “ Let 
not your heart be troubled.” 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 33 1 

Thrilled, soothed, inexpressibly comforted, 
she read line by line until she came, in the 
second chapter, to the twelfth and thirteenth 
verses : 

“ This is my commandment : that ye love 
one another, as I have loved you. 

“ Greater love hath no man than this : that 
a man lay down his life for his friends.” 

Venus was startled in her whispered traffic 
with Tony as “ a baker man ” by the falling 
of the heavy book to the floor. She looked 
around to see Jean lying prone upon the sofa, 
quite still, her face buried in her hands. 

“ Sh ! sh ! sh ! Tony ! Jeanie’s asleep,” 
said the negress, with her finger dividing her 
protruded lips. 

“ Jeanie’s dort ? ” asked the child. “ Let’s 
go ’way den.” So he trotted gravely into the 
next room, and Venus tipped cautiously after 
him, closing the door behind her. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


Jean lay thus motionless for about twenty 
minutes, afraid to stir or look up, lest the 
solution which had come to her should prove 
fleeting or unsound. According to her con- 
fused, excited brain there was her answer — 
there, in those most simple and beautiful of 
words : “ Greater love hath no man than this ; 
that a man lay down his life for his friends.” 
Strange that only the Beloved Disciple had 
recorded that wonderful saying concerning 
love ! To her it meant hope, strength, deliv- 
erance. In her torture she twisted out of it a 
personal meaning which it never had. 

“ I have nothing and no one to live for, 
particularly,” she thought. “ My first duty 
and love are to him. I make him wretched. 
I make him a hypocrite. He is not even free 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 333 

to — to love her. How awful it must have 
been for him all these months. Oh, my poor 
darling ! my poor darling ! And to think it is 
I — I who have given him all this torture ! ” 
She began to shudder from head to foot — her 
eyes burned, aching with tears which would 
not fall. Then her thoughts began to turn to 
the practical questions involved. 

“ If — if I do it — he must never know — 
that would only be to torture him more. 
And how, how can I — ah ! — ” She sat 
erect, pushing the hair back from her hot 
face. “ Maman Cici ! — I can borrow her 
needle as if I were not well ! I will write a 
little note to Adrian and pin it on the pincush- 
ion in our room — something to say Maman 
Cici has lent me some medicine and I hope 
to feel better by this evening. Ah ! God 
knows I do ! ” and again there rose in her 
that awful desire to burst into wild laughter ; 
but instead, she got up quietly, brushed her 
hair, put on her hat, which had fallen to the 


334 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

floor, and opening the door into the next 
room, called out: “ Be sure to have Tony 
asleep by twelve o’clock if I don’t come 
back, Vee ! I’m going out for a while/’ 

Maman Cici at first demurred at parting 
with her precious needle, but Jean promised 
to seal it up in a packet and return it to her 
by Venus in two hours at the latest — so she 
gave her the whole case, with the little vial 
full of opium, saying, as she gave it a last 
loving polish on the sleeve of her gown : 
“ Ah ! You little goody-goody ! You see if 
you don’t fall as much in love with it as I’ve 
done ! ” 

After Jean had reached the door she went 
back suddenly, and taking Maman Cici’s 
large face between her slight palms, kissed 
her affectionately on cheeks and forehead. 

“You have been very, very, very good to 
me always, and I do thank you, dear,” she 
said, in a low voice, and was gone before Ma- 
dame Vamousin could say anything in reply. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 335 

As Jean remounted the stairs to her apart- 
ment she heard her husband’s voice talking 
to Venus, and stopped a moment to lean 
against the balusters, deadly faint. 

“ Ah, there you are, dear ! The most 
splendid seats — and Benson tells me it’s 
awfully funny. But you look better already 
— not quite so white.” 

“ I — I feel better,” stammered Jean. She 
was blushing intensely, as though her lover 
rather than her husband were speaking to her. 

“ Why, Jean ! Are all those pink signals 
out in my honor ? ” asked Farrance, gently 
amused. “ Has ‘ Le Mariage de Barillon ’ 
helped me to this delightful display ? Alors ! 
Vive ‘ Barillon ! ’ ” Jean looked at him 
amazed. He had never seemed so gay since 
she knew him. The truth was that he had 
never been so nearly in love with her. 

It is a strange fact that by some subtle in- 
stinct we often learn to value a thing just as 
we are about to lose it. 


336 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“ How pretty you are, Jean ! ” said Far- 
ranee, coming up to her. “ May I kiss 
you ? ” His tone was too genuine to be 
doubted. No matter if it were only the pas- 
sion of a moment of forgetfulness — her heart 
was famished — perhaps it was the last kiss 
he would ever give her. She threw herself 
upon his breast with a look he had never 
seen in her face before, her eyes dilated, her 
lips parted, crimson. 

“Yes — yes — kiss me, Adrian! Oh, my 
love ! Tell me that you love me ! ” 

Her slight figure was as tense as a rod of 
steel against him, her arms binding him to 
her with an energy which made her own 
breathing difficult. He was roused, exhila- 
rated. He kissed her with a passion which 
he had not felt for many a day, and as his 
lips left hers, she still held up her lovely, 
childish mouth as though thirsty for his 
caresses. 

But it was only a moment’s whirl of emo- 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 337 

tion, and after it she sank down again, pale 
and listless, her head drooping a little at the 
thought of her own self-abandonment. 

Shortly afterward Farrance went up into 
his studio for the day’s work, and Jean to 
their bedroom to write the note which was 
to be pinned on the pincushion. As she 
dipped the pen into the inkstand and began 
to trace the words “ Dearest Adrian,’’ she 
heard him whistling while he moved about 
overhead. Tears blinded her suddenly, and 
one dropped in a great blur on the letters of 
his name. She tore up the note and began 
another. This time she wrote “ My Dear- 
est.” “ He is my dearest,” she whispered, 
with a sob ; “ he is all that I have — that I 
thought I had.” Then she went on firmly : 

“ My Dearest : I am feeling so wretch- 
edly that I have borrowed Maman Cici’s little 
* aiguille ’ for morphine. Don’t blame her 
for lending it to me — she didn’t want to a 

22 


333 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

bit — but I’ve sometimes taken McMunn’s 
Elixir for headache and thought this might 
help me. I do want to go to the play with 
you to-night, and I'm going to take this. 
Please don’t let anyone disturb me till the 
last minute. I do love you so, my dearest 
You have always been so good to me. You 
have made me so happy always.” 

Here she paused, tears blinding her again. 
“ I’m afraid that’s too much. It might make 
him suspect.” 

A second time she wrote the note over 
carefully, firmly, leaving out the sentence, 
“ You have made me so happy always,” and 
changing “ You have always been so good 
to me” into '‘You are always so good to 
me.” 

Then she signed it: “ Forever your own 
little loving Jean,” kissed it and put it into 
an envelope, which she fastened to the pin- 
cushion with her own silver hat-pin. Having 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 339 

done this she called Venus and sent her out 
on an errand which would keep her for the 
next hour and a half, and established Tony 
happily at a game of blocks on the floor 
where she could watch him. Then, locking 
the door, she took out the case, and having 
drawn the little syringe full of the clear, 
harmless-looking fluid, wiped it carefully as 
Maman Cici had shown her how to do, and 
fitted on one of the hollow needles. Just as 
she had done this Tony trotted up and held 
out a varnished block, on which was a large 
red “ Or 

“ Wound O,” he announced proudly ; then 
producing another : “ Cwookut S.’ 

Jean’s heart was hammering violently, and 
she had pricked herself with the needle in 
her haste to hide it under the skirt of her 
gown. 

“ Lovely, lovely, darling ! What a clever 
boy ! ” she exclaimed, gayly. 

“ Venus telled me,” said Tony, absorbing 


340 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

this praise with his usual placidity, and then 
trotted away again. 

Jean withdrew the needle and looked at 
it. How strange it was for death to be hid- 
den in that odd little instrument of glass and 
steel. Farrance was now whistling Schu- 
bert’s “ Serenade,” pausing in the midst of the 
bass and in unheard-of places, so that she 
could almost see his absorbed pause, while 
he did a bit of brushing more intricate than 
usual. All at once a sudden, unlooked-for, 
overwhelming desire rushed over her. Why 
not go upstairs and say to him : “ Look, 
dear ! She never loved you. She told me 
so. She showed me the picture of the man 
she really loved — but it was not yours. I 
love you — I love you utterly. Give me your- 
self, your love. Forget her — forget her ! ” 

“ Oh, dear Lord, help me, forgive me ! ” 
she whispered, her voice thick, drops of an- 
guish starting out upon her forehead. “ I 
shall go mad, I think ! ” 





She went and Stood Silently beside Him. — p. 341. 


i 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 34 1 

After a moment, during which Tony 
chanted monotonously : “ Wound O — • 

Cwookut S — Wound O — Cwookut S,” she 
got up, slipped the hypodermic syringe into 
a drawer, and, unlocking the door, went up- 
stairs to the studio. Farrance was so ab- 
sorbed in his work that he did not notice her. 

She went and stood silently beside him for 
awhile, and at last said, timidly : 

“ How are you getting along, dear? ” 

“Oh, is that you, Jean? First rate, 
thanks.” 

He went on with his painting in entire ab- 
sent-mindedness, whistling softly under his 
breath. 

“ You have everything you want? ” 

“Yes, thanks, dear, everything.” 

“ I — I am so obliged to you about ‘ Le 
Mariage de Barillon/ Adrian. I thank you 
so about everything. You are so good to 
me — all the time.” 

“ It isn’t any credit to one to be good to 


342 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

you, Jeanie. Would you mind standing a 
little to the left? You make me a bit ner- 
vous so close to my arm. There — that’s 
perfect.” 

“ I — think I’ll go now.” 

“ Well, be sure to rest, so as to be fresh 
for the play to-night.” 

“ Yes — thank you, Adrian — I will — I ” 

Her voice faltered. It seemed as though he 
must feel the horrible throb of unavailing 
love and anguish which racked her, as though 
some instinct must make him turn and take 
her to his heart for the last time. But no, 
he went on whistling Schubert’s ‘ Serenade ’ 
in execrable time, and searching through the 
whole gamut of his palette for the combina- 
tion that would make a certain rose-gray 
tone on his model’s breast. 

“ I will go and lie down now, Adrian.” 

“ Yes, dear — that’s right.” 

“ That is a lovely study, my dearest,” the 
last words were spoken with such a sweet, 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 343 

winning shyness that Farrance turned, his 
mouth full of brushes, and exclaimed : “ My 
child, you are quite too charming to-day. Do 
go and let me work.” 

This pleased and hurt her at the same 
time. She turned quickly so that he might 
not see the tears which rushed to her eyes, 
and ran down-stairs again to their room. 
Throwing herself upon the bed, and pressing 
to her breast the pillow where her husband’s 
head rested every night, she broke for the 
first time into such wild weeping that Tony 
sent up a sympathetic whimper from among 
his piles of gaudy blocks. This quieted her, 
and she ran to soothe him, having once more 
locked the door. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


There was nothing more to be done. 
She opened the Bible at the verse which she 
had seen that morning, and, unfastening her 
dress while she read, slipped on a little dress- 
ing-gown of pale-blue cashmere, which had 
been part of her trousseau and which Farrance 
especially liked. Then she brushed and 
combed her lovely curling hair, but u not too 
smooth,” running her fingers through it to 
produce the loose burnished masses which 
she knew he admired. On her feet she drew 
a pair of pretty bronze shoes which he had 
also commended. 

“ l want him to think of me as pretty — - ' 
afterward,” said the poor child, her lip quiv- 
ering. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 


345 


Then she looked about to see if she had 
forgotten anything. 

“ Oh, yes ! I must seal the package for 
Maman Cici and unlock the door — but not 
yet. Tony, come say prayers with Jeanie.” 

“ Pas’ pray-time,” said the boy, shaking 
his head. 

“ But won’t you pray with Jeanie when she 
asks you ? ” 

“Pas’ pray-time,” he repeated. Jean was 
too tired to argue with him. She said “ Our 
Father ” through unfalteringly in her sweet, 
clear voice, which was that of a child, and 
then two or three sentences of the church 
service which had somehow remained in her 
mind. 

“ O Lamb of God, who taketh away the 
sins of the world, have mercy upon me ! O 
Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of 
the world, grant me Thy peace ! . Lord, 
have mercy upon me ! Christ, have mercy 
upon me ! Lord, have mercy upon me ! ” 


346 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

She felt quiet and very happy. “ ‘ Great- 
er love hath no man ; ’ Christ said that Him- 
self/’ she murmured. “ I have no one but 
Adrian, and it’s better for me to die for him 
than to live for him. My darling, my hus- 
band ! I do it for you ! Jesus understands; 
I am not afraid — no, not the least ! And I’m 
glad I thought of this blue gown. Perhaps 
it will please him to remember me in it.” 
She took the little needle and kissed it pas- 
sionately ; then, with a quick movement, ran 
the sharp steel into the smooth flesh of her 
slender forearm, and pressed the piston 
slowly down until its head rested on the 
frame. 

A startled look swept over her face for an 
instant as she drew the needle out and saw 
the empty tube. Then she went quickly to 
the table, and, after sealing and addressing 
the needle, wrote on a slip of paper the word 
“ Jesus,” and pinned it to her chemise, out 
of sight, but where her hand could press it 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 347 

against her heart. Afterward she lay down 
upon the bed. 

For some moments she felt nothing ; but 
then came internally a sharp, burning sensa- 
tion, not unpleasant. A desire to talk, to 
sing, stole gradually over her. She was 
quite light-hearted, and began to think that 
probably she would go to sleep presently and 
then wake up to find she had been dreaming, 
and then would go to see “ Le Mariage de 
Barillon ” and have a charming evening. 
Next came a delicious languor; it was as 
though warm, rosy wine were streaming 
through her veins. Her mouth became 
slightly dry, and it was an effort for her to 
moisten her lips or move in the least ; but 
this strange, thrilling heaviness of her body 
was in some way delicious. Life had never 
seemed half so full, so charming, so worth 
living. “ Still, I am not afraid to die — I see 
that I must — only I am so happy in spite of 
everything. Oh, how lovely this is — like 


348 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

floating on a magic carpet. I believe the 
bed will begin to rise presently.” She closed 
her eyes for an instant, and it seemed to her 
that the counterpane was covered with great 
damask roses, such as used to grow in the 
garden at home, drenched with dew and fra- 
grance. “ They will soak through to the 
sheets ! ” she exclaimed, starting up. Her 
mouth felt lined with fur ; she could swallow 
only with a great effort. Tony was still 
chanting his song of “ Wound O ” and 
“ Cwookut S.” 

A sensation of awe crept over the girl. 
“Tony,” she managed to say, “Tony, 
Jeanie’s malade. Come pray for her ! ” 

The boy answered this appeal at once, his 
round face anxious and sympathetic. Tug- 
ging, scrambling, breathing heavily, he man- 
aged to get on the bed beside her, and then 
laid one grimy, perspiring little hand on her 
dry forehead. 

“ Fais do-do,” he suggested, finally. 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 349 

“Yes — in — a — minute, dearie,” murmured 
Jean, drowsily. “ But now pray for Jeanie.” 

“Bon Dieu ! bless papa — bless Jeanie — 
bless Tony — bless Venus — bless all the 
world ” 

“ Do — you — love — Jeanie, dear — un tout 
petit peu ? ” 

“No! a big little bit! tomme 9a!” He 
threw himself upon her breast, and strained 
his arms about her until his chubby face was 
scarlet. Jean smiled faintly. She seemed 
to see miles and miles of fair June grass 
blowing and rippling in a light wind. 

“ Dear Tony — dear little man ! ” she man- 
aged to murmur. What charming ideas 
were haunting her. Someone was playing a 
violin close by. What heavenly music! 
And always that grass blowing, blowing, and 
the sound of falling water far away, and of 
birds calling as at daybreak. 

“ Fais do-do ! fais do- do / ” crowed Tony, 
rocking himself back and forth. Then he 


350 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN 

stopped and peered up under Jean’s closed 
lids. “ Tu dors, Jeanie?” he asked; and 
then answered himself in a tone of intense 
satisfaction : “ Oui, Jeanie dort ! ” 

After waiting very patiently for some mo- 
ments to be sure of this fact, he worked him- 
self laboriously down upon the floor again 
and went on with his game. 

Half an hour later Jean opened her eyes 
for an instant and looked about her. Her 
glance fell finally upon Tony, who, pausing, 
block in hand, gazed back at her. 

“Oh, such a lovely, lovely dream, Tony, 
darling ! ” she whispered, smiling ; and he 
shook his finger at her, as she used to do 
when he lay awake in his crib, and began 
again his crooning : “ Fais do-do ! fais do- 
do ! ” as her eyelids sank. 

Two hours later, when Farrance came 
down-stairs to dress for the play, he was met 
by the small, sturdy figure of Tony, who 
held up a warning hand and breathed forth : 


ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 35 1 

• “ Pas bwee (pas be bruit) ! Jeanie fais do- 
do.” 

Farrance then read the little note on the 
pincushion, and as he brushed his hair, stood 
at the foot of the bed looking down at her. 
She was exquisitely lovely ; her lips were 
parted and smiled. N 

“ Fve never seen her so beautiful ! ” 
thought he. “ That old witch’s stuff must 
have done her good.” Here he noticed that 
Tony had again climbed upon the bed, and, 
stooping, he lifted him gently but without 
ceremony to the floor. The child marched 
seriously away without a word, and returned, 
dragging something after him. This he tried, 
with great labor, to push up “upon the bed 
beside Jean. 

“ What the mischief are you after, mon- 
key ? ” asked his father, in a whisper. 

“Jeanie told,” said the child, for the first 
time putting up a grieved lip. 


352 ACCORDING TO SAINT JOHN. 

“Nonsense, old man ! ” returned Farrance ; 
“ it’s a warm day.” 

“ Jeanie told,” insisted the boy. 

To soothe him, Farrance put a gentle hand 
on the girl’s forehead. It was like ice. 

“ Good God ! — that accursed morphine ! ” 
he cried out. “ Call Venus, quick, Tony ! — 
quick, boy ! ” 

He caught up Jean in his arms. Her head 
fell back ; her eyes gleamed in a narrow 
band, as of silver, between the thick lashes. 
She had been dead fully two hours. 


THE END. 


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tion of his thoughts and struggles are well worth reading. 

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25. Sopbg Carmine - • By John Strange Winter 

Does anybody ever tire of John Strange Winter and her 
delightful army people. Here in Sophy Carmine are many of our 
old acquaintances : Booties and his wife and their inimitable little 
maids, Lai and Mignon, Jane and her Lord and the demure 
Sophy. It is deliciously told; arch, and dainty, and captivating, 
and the denouement is all one could wish . — Literary World. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


26. XTbe Xucft Of tbe Ibouse - By Adeline Sergeant 

Is a story showing more than average ability. A number of the 
characters possess the merit of being drawn on lines that are fresh 
and unhackneyed. The scene of the story is laid chiefly in Scotiund, 
and no fault can be found with the local color or accessories.^-.#.*. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, If. Y. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


27* tTbc ipenngcomequfcftg * - by s. Baring-Gould 

It is a stong, well-written story of English life and character 
marked by the well-known ability of its author, and compares favor- 
ably with any other of his novels. The writer has gained a consider- 
able reputation as a novelist and it is well deserved. — Chronicle. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

28* 3-e3CbeV8 jfrfenfrg * By Dora Russell 

Dora Russell, author of “ The Broken Seal,” is also the author 
of a novel called “Jezebel’s Friends,” which is replete with sensa- 
tional incidents and cannot fail to please the lovers of this class 
of fiction. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

29 * Conteft# Of a Country Ibouge - By Julian Sturgis 

Is an extremely clever and readable novel. There is enough of plot 
in it to arouse the interest of the reader, but the chief merit of the 
book is in its ease of style and freshness and vivacity. The characters 
are well drawn and possess no small degree of originality which is 
something not common in the fiction of the time. The book may 
be commended to lovers of fiction as a clean, breezy, spirited and 
interesting novel . — San Francisco Chronicle. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


30. ZTbe HMCCaOHl£ U>U33le. A Mysterious Story. 

By Fergus W. Hume 
This book is readable enough, but there is nothing mysterious 
about the puzzle if you have read Hume’s previous works and 
understand his system. He begins with a crime and tries to puzzle 
you about the criminal ; now select the character who is not sus- 
pected by anyone and you have the right man or woman. We 
advise readers to buy this book for the cars, the seaside or the 
Summer Hotel . — The Metropolis. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


UNITED STATES BOOK CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


35. IRft Mgn&bam ; or jfette r efr for %jfc By Frank Barrett 

Is a powerful and thrilling tale, full of incident, with a strong plot, 
just such a book as will please the great majority of novel readers. 
It attracts the interest at the very outset and holds it to the end. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

36 . ffbe ffree of IkttowIeSge - • by g. m. robins 

This is one of the neatest “ adaptations ” that ever appeared in 
print. It is practically the plot and story of “ Lohengrin ” told in 
modern English and with characters selected from the every-day 
world. The plot is familiar to many but the book deserves atten- 
tion for the manner as well as the matter. It is admirably written. 
— New York Herald. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

37. IRoIailS Olivet - By Justin McCarthy 

The pen of the distinguished jurist and statesman after having 
made itself famous by most excellent histories, is now endearing 
itself to the hearts of every English reader by some of the cleverest 
and most delicate essays, and by stories that manifest as much of 
the tender discrimination of a student of the heart as the virile 
strength of the Historian. Of these last, “Roland Oliver” with a hero 
embodying the heroic qualities of his twb namesakes, is one of the 
best. — Nashville American . 

CLOTH. $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

38. Sbeba ------ By Rita 

“Sheba,” a study of girlhood, is a bright, breezy, healthful and 
attractive story full of struggles, doubts, fears and sufferings, it is 
true, but displaying a beautiful girlhood growing into womanhood ; 
nevertheless young and old can read it with pleasure and profit. — 

Springfield Times. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, N. Y. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


39. Splflfa ffir&ett - - By Oswald Crawfurd 

Is a novel whose story is supposed to be told by a man who con- 
fesses at the outset that life has been with him a failure. He has 
been successfu in nothing though trying everything — and the 
novel deals with the most remarkable incidents in that sort of a 
career. It is a cleverly done book, and there is much in it which is 
fresh as well as exciting. — Columbus , O., Journal. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER C )VER, 30 CENTS. 

40, Igoung Btnslfe’g Courtebfp - By F. C. Philips 

It seems impossible for F. C. Philips, the author of “ As in a 
Looking Glass, to keep sensational tragedy out of his novels. In 
“ Young Mr. Ainslie’s Courtship ” he has written a story which is 
charming, tty and agreeable up to the very last chapter. — San 

Francisco Chronicle. 

CLOTH, fl.OO. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

41, ffbe Ibaute IRoblesse By Geo. Manville fenx 

Is a we’l wrought story of which the heroine is a child of the higf* 
aristocracy, but nevertheless such admirable traits and qualities 
that even the humblest reader cannot fail to love her. — Columbus , 
O., Journal. 

CLOTH. $I OO. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

42. /IBount iBfcen • • By Florence Marryat 

Miss Florence Marryat is well known to the readers of senti 
mental novels. She has a bright and crisp way of presenting the 
frailties of the human race, which makes her stories entertaining, 
even if they are devoid of all good moral purpose. They open 
one’s eyes to the inconsistencies of life without wholly destroying 
his faith in his fellow citizens. — Boston Herald. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. PUBLISHERS, N. Y. 


LOVELL’S INTERNATIONAL SERIES. 


43. buttons 


By John Strange Winter 


“ Buttons” is a delicious little story by John Strange Winter, 
In which a military man of high rank falls in love with a governess, 
and is not permitted to marry her. Then he lowers himself to the 
rank of private so that he may consummate his love. The story is 
sweet and well worth reading. — Toledo Journal. 

CLOTH, $i.OO. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 

44. Burse IReveBa /H Mstafte • By Florence Warden 

If Florence Warden’s “Nurse Revel’s Mistake” cannot be 
classed among her best novels, it is nevertheless a clever work, 
which might bring reputation to a less successful author.— N. Y. 
Sun. 

CLOTH, $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 CENTS. 


45. Brmfnell 


By S. Baring-Gould 


This is a very pleasing story with just enough plot as not to 
appear overstrained. Its easy dialogues and sparkling incidents 
will abundantly repay its readers. 

CLOTH, $ 1 . 00 . PAPER COVER, 50 CENTS. 

46. {Tbe Xament Of E>tv>eg • • By Walter Besant 

Whatever Besant writes is worth reading. Besant has fallen 
in with the prevailing interest in occult matters, and gives a tinge 
of the supernatural or of what people call the supernatural, to his 
story in the exchange of souls made by the two principal characters. 
— Tacoma Times. 

There are many morals in this pretty story which we shall 
leave the reader the pleasure of discovering for himself . — Metropo 
/is, N. y. 


CLOTH,. $1.00. PAPER COVER, 30 Cl 





UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, N. Y 





























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